The Flower Shop 



A PLAT 



Marion Craig-Wentworth 




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THE FLOWER SHOP 



THE 
FLOWER SHOP 

A Play in Three Acts 

BY 

MARION CRAIG-WENTWORTH 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 
1912 



Copyright, iQiiy by Marion Craig-Wentzvorth 



All Dramatic Rights Reserved 



re 3^55 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



©C1.D 25821 



THE FLOWER SHOP 



CHARACTERS 

Margaret Kendall, owner of " The Flower 

Shofy' known as ''Margaret BelV* 
William Ramsey, a business man 
Louise Ramsey, his wife 
Stephen Hartwell, an attorney 
Joseph Ten Eyck, a theatrical manager 
Helpers in the Flower Shop, Dave, Pollyy 

Lena, Mary 
Customers of the Flower Shop 
Charles Dunn 

Cornelia von Schlegel, affianced to Charles Dunn 
Mrs. Summers 
Mrs. Knight 
Followers of Margaret, a group of women. 

Time: The present. 
Scene: The Flower Shop. 

The action occupies the afternoon and evening of 
one day. 



The Flower Shop 

ACT I 

Scene: A white spacious room of a flower shop in 
an inland American city. It is filled with a 
profusion of growing green things; bay trees, 
ferns, box, high over-arching palms massed in 
groups; ivy plants, asparagus, and delicate, 
feathery sprays of green hanging from the walls 
and ceiling, with here and there a plaster cast 
of a Greek god looking through the leaves; gay 
blossoming shrubs and bushes banked in tiers 
on the floor, — azaleas, white lilacs, Easter 
lilies, red and pink rambler roses. Great jars 
of cut flowers stand on the long worktable 
against the wall at the right. 

Large doors at the back, guarded by stone Japanese 
temple posts, lead into the salesroom, where 
may be seen a bit of the counter, the street door 
and the show window, another tangle of plants 
and flowers. A carved stone bench brought 
from some old Italian garden is in the center 
of the stage under a tall palm, and another, 
quite similar, stands near the massive table 
on the left — a few chairs of quaint design 

8 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 9 

are conveniently placed. Side doors to left 
and right, one leading to the street, the other 
to a conservatory. A window in the wall 
to the left at the back. 

Time: early afternoon. 

Discovered: Lena, Polly, and Mary working at 
floral decorations. Lena, a tall, thin, worn- 
looking girl, is making a wreath, while the 
other two are filling in a wedding bell. Mary 
is slight and pale, with a delicate beauty of her 
own. Polly is plump and pretty, with a 
merry, care-free, childish face. She carries 
on an innocent flirtation with Dave, a stalwart, 
curly-headed young man who is passing in 
and out of the conservatory with plants. 

Polly. [Humming a bit from the Lohengrin 
wedding march] Oh, dear! I'd like to be the 
bride ! 

Mary. [Smiling at her] Not really, Polly .'^ 

Polly. Yes, I would! and get married, 
instead of having to work for a living. 

Lena. Don't let Miss Margaret hear you talk 
like that. 

Polly. Why not? 

Lena. She'd think you were fooHsh. 



10 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Polly. Foolish to want to be married? Why, 
every girl wants that. 

Lena. Not Miss Margaret. She doesn't be- 
lieve in getting married. 

Polly. I don't care what she believes; she'd 
like to be in love just as much as I would. Isn't 
she a woman? 

[They laugh at her.] 

Lena. I wonder what she would do if she 
were in love; what would become of her ideas. 

Polly. I can tell you. They'd all go ke — 
smash ! [Gesture.] 

Lena. Or if she got tired — good and tired. 

Mary. Would you marry a man simply 
because you were tired of working, Lena? 

Lena stares at Mary as she moves to the 
table for more flowers with evident intent 
to cut her. 

Polly. Would you, Lena? 

Lena. [Sharply] Certainly, if he was a good 
man. 

Polly. You don't care about being in love? 
Why, I think that is the whole thing! 

Lena. That's because you are so hopelessly 
young, Polly. What would it matter, if he gave 
me a good home? 

Mary. [Still hurt by Lena's stare] Then you 
are no better than I am, Lena Shrieves, though 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 11 

you will not speak to me. I was more than tired 
when Miss Margaret saved me from the life I 
was being dragged into. I was hungry — hungry 
— do you understand? You don't know what 
it means to live on three or four dollars a week 
in a miserable little room for five years, and never 
know what it is to have your body warm in 
winter or your hunger satisfied. 

Lena. [With virtuous sharpness] I'd keep 
respectable! 

Mary. [Passionately] You wouldn't! You 
couldn't! You'd get more tired than you are 
now; you'd get so sick of it all and so desperate 
you'd take the first offer you had for just one 
square meal and some warm underwear to stop 
the shivers ! 

[There is the noise of some one entering] 
Polly. Here she is, girls. 

Enter Margaret, a beautiful womaUy of tall, 

noble build, gracious and winning of 

manner. She is followed by Joseph 

Ten Eyck. The girls quietly withdraw. 

Margaret. It is quite as I say, Ten Eyck. 

Ten Eyck. Then it is useless to speak of it 

further. 

Margaret. Yes. My voice is entirely gone. 
I faced the fact that I should never sing again 
some time ago. 



12 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Ten Eyck. [Sympathetically] Too bad — too 
bad! By the way, what has become of Louise? 
How you did sing — both of you that last night ! 

Margaret. Yes, we were in high spirits. 
We never dreamed of the swift, terrible illness 
so soon to shut out the light and leave the two 
song birds in the dark. I don't know where she 
is. Doubtless it has been with her as with me. She 
has probably never recovered her voice, although 
at the time the doctors said there was more hope 
for her than for me. They thought a long rest 
might do it. 

Ten Eyck. I suppose she is married .^^ 

Margaret. Very likely. 

Ten Eyck. And you? How does it happen 
you have never married, Margaret — you, of all 
women? I should have expected 

Margaret [Lightly] Oh no! 

Ten Eyck. You had any number of ad- 
mirers to choose from. I don't like to see you doing 
this — it goes against the grain somehow — a 
woman like you! You needn't, you know. 

Margaret [Smiling] I am quite able to take 
care of myself. 

Ten Eyck. Oh, I know — but Margaret 
Kendall in the commercial world — running a 
business — no, no! the thing is preposterous. 
You really ought to marry and have a husband. 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 13 

Margaret [Laughing] That is amusing, com- 
ing from you, Ten Eyck. How you used to rail 
against husbands. Didn't you always say they 
were a bother? 

Ten Eyck. For a star, yes; or a woman with 
a career — you can't expect a man to marry his 
wife's career. An artist hasn't any business to 
have a husband. 

Margaret. There you go ! 

Ten Eyck. But it is different with you now, 
Margaret — in your present circumstances. I 
remember I did make rather a fuss about your 
marrying William Ramsey — I was afraid you 
would take him, and if you had it would have 
been all up with you as a singer. He had his 
ideas on the subject. 

Margaret. Yes, that is what made the trouble 
between us. 

Ten Eyck. Still, if you had taken him you 
wouldn't have been in this state 

Margaret [Amused] What state? 

Ten Eyck. Working for your living, like any 
ordinary woman. 

Margaret. [With amused reminiscence] I 
wouldn't have married William Ramsey for the 
world — not after I found him out. A splendid 
man — oh, yes — but it came to be *' when 
Greek meets Greek" with us. We never met 



14 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

without the flash and smoke of battle. So we 
ended it. It was a lucky thing the fatal words 
were not spoken over William Ramsey and me, 
or — something would certainly have happened. 
As for working for my living, I am very proud 
of that, you know. It is a beautiful work, too. 
I love the flowers. Best of all, I am free. So 
don't worry about me, Ten Eyck, and my not 
having a husband. [Lightly] What should I 
want of one? 

Ten Eyck. It's not reasonable, Margaret. 
I can't believe that a woman like you must go 
through life without some one to love her and 
look out for her. [Looking at her keenly.] 

Margaret. [Trying to hide a pain in her voice] 
Not now — not for me — neither love nor music. 

Ten Eyck. [Sympathetically] Well, that's your 
secret. Anyway, you are a brave girl, Margaret. 
[Shaking hands] I must go. I must find some one to 
take the place of our star. She can't hold out. You 
won't let me hear — let me judge of your voice? 

Margaret. [Shaking her head sadly] I can't 
sing a note. 

Ten Eyck. Come and see us to-night. I will 
leave seats for you. Good-bye. [Turns] I can't 
help thinking, though, you would be happier with 
a husband. Yes, even William Ramsey would 
be better than none at all! 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 15 

[He goes out to Margaret's laughing pro- 
test. She turns to arrange some flowers,] 

Polly. [Announcing] A gentleman to see you, 
Miss Margaret. A stranger. Mr. Ramsey. 

Enter William Ramsey, a man of bold 

but attractive strength, rather heavily 

built, ivith high Saxon coloring and a blue 

choleric eye. Magnetic, conscious of his 

power, but not disagreeably so. 

Margaret. [Astonished, lets fall to the table 

the flowers in her hands and turns to face him] 

William ! You ! 

Ramsey. Well, haven't you a word for me 
after all these years .^ 

Margaret. Why, yes — you surprised me — 
won't you sit down? I spoke your name but a 
moment ago. 

Ramsey. Ah, I am pleased I am not forgotten. 
Margaret. How did you find me out? 
Ramsey. We are on our way to New York. 
My wife told me you were here — under an as- 
sumed name — so I couldn't resist coming to see 
you. I hope you don't mind. 

Margaret. Your wife, you say. Then you 
are married. 
Ramsey. Yes. 

Margaret. \With gentle amusement] She is 
sufficiently docile, I suppose. 



16 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Ramsey. [Bristling] She is my ideal of a wife. 

Margaret. Perfectly domestic and of course 
no yearnings for a public career. 

Ramsey. I should quickly nip them in the 
bud if she had. Thank goodness, I have nothing 
of that kind to disturb my happiness. She is a 
true woman. 

Margaret. Not a singer, I assume. 

Ramsey. No, indeed. That is, not now. 
She was once. 

Margaret. Ah! You made her give up her 
voice for you.^ 

Ramsey. No, I met her after she had lost it. 
By the way, she says you were in the same epi- 
demic — you must have sung together. 

Margaret. Not Louise Van Anden.^ 

Ramsey. Yes. 

Margaret. Really ! [Pauses] Then her voice 
never came back. 

Ramsey. No. She has said nothing about 
it for some time, so I think she has quite for- 
gotten. 

Margaret. Forgotten! Where is she? Isn't 
she coming to see me.^^ 

Ramsey. Yes, later. I slipped away, for I 
wanted to see you alone. I wanted to see how 
you were getting on — if you had changed since 
the old days — what you were doing and thinking. 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 17 

Margaret. So you married Louise, my old 
singing mate! Well, well! I suppose if she had 
kept her voice it would have meant no more to 
you than mine did. 

Ramsey. Your voice meant everything to me, 
Margaret. It was you. It was the magic that 
first drew me to you. 

Margaret. Yet you would have murdered it. 

Ramsey. How do you mean? 

Margaret. You demanded I give it up on 
the day of our marriage. 

Ramsey. Of course. You know how strongly 
I felt on that point. I didn't want you to appear 
in public — to make the treasure common. How 
would it have looked? You could have gone on 
singing. 

Margaret. For you, alone? In the chimney 
corner? With my voice? 

Ramsey. For friends, for charity, — in a pri- 
vate way. That seems far more beautiful to me. 
If you had loved me you would have done it. 

Margaret. [Shakes her head] If you had loved 
me you would have been glad and proud 

Ramsey. To have you sing in public? As a 
professional star? Never, not as my wife. Of 
course, if you hadn't insisted on marriage we might 
have had our love in secret, — you could have 
kept on in your career; but you would have 



18 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

marriage, so very naturally I demanded you 
retire from the public gaze. 

Margaret. And then the battle was on! 
A royal one, too, — wasn't it, William.^ 

Ramsey. Yes, I admit we were pretty evenly 
matched. 

Margaret. You didn't conquer me. 

Ramsey. No, nor you me. 

Margaret. Yet that struggle was the lesson 
of my life. 

Ramsey. What do you mean? 

Margaret. I wanted to be both the artist 
and the wife. 

Ramsey. Well, you saw that was impossible — 
I taught you that. 

Margaret. You taught me the value of 
freedom. 

Ramsey. [Irritably] What do you mean? — 
freedom ! 

Margaret. To be one's self — to grow each 
in his own way, the woman as well as the man. If 
marriage can't do that 

Ramsey. Well? 

Margaret. Remain alone. For me, there 
can be no real or lasting happiness without free- 
dom — of that I am sure. 

Ramsey. [Looks about the flower shop con- 
temptuously] Is this what you call freedom? or 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 19 

happiness? Humph! If you had married me 
you might not have been happy, but at least you 
would not have come to this — to be forced to 
support yourself and battle with the business 
world. I could have protected you from 
that. 

Mabgaret. I think better of marriage than 
that it is merely an escape from the responsibility 
of taking care of one's self. I want to earn my own 
way in the world. I mean always to do it, 
whether I marry or not. [Leaning across the 
table and speaking in a low^ earnest voice] My 
flower shop takes the place of my voice. I 
couldn't begin to tell you all that it means to me. 
Years ago you roused the rebel in me. It was for 
myself alone. Now I am a rebel for other 
women too. If I failed with my voice I shall 
not fail with my flower shop. 

Ramsey. What do you mean? 

Margaret. It is the symbol of a new freedom 
for woman. 

Ramsey. You don't mean votes — you haven't 
gone off on that craze? 

Margaret. A greater freedom than that, — 
economic freedom. 

Polly. [Announcing] There are some custo- 
mers here, Miss Margaret. 

Margaret. I will see them. 



20 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Ramsey. Must I go? 

Margaret. [Indicating a stone bench screened 
by plants] No, sit here. You said you wanted to 
know what I am thinking and doing — you shall 
see. It is one of my women, doubtless. [Confi- 
dentially] Since I have been in this work I have been 
allowed to look intimately into the lives of scores 
of women. Sometimes I think my flower shop 
is a temple — this room a confessional, and I the 
priestess — so many hearts have been opened 
to me here. They seem like a lot of frightened 
slaves — the women — and the husbands masters 
and owners by right of the household purse, — 
if only that could be abolished ! 

Enter airily Mrs. Summers, a pretty^ 
fashionable little woman. 

Margaret. [Advancing to her] Ah, Mrs. 
Summers. 

Mrs. Summers. Oh, Miss Bell, I am in a bit 
of a hurry — may I speak with you a moment .^^ 
I have a piece of good news. I may get my 
conservatory after all! [Speaks in a low voice] 
I am working hard — I have him almost twisted 
round my finger — one more little twist — then 
the check — victory — my conservatory at last ! 

Margaret. How have you managed him.? 

Mrs. Summers. [With gay irresponsibility] 
I waited each time before speaking until he was 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 21 

pleased and good natured over something — 
sometimes it was a special dinner — then I would 
sit on the arm of his chair, and pet him a little, 
and casually drop a hint or two to get him used 
to the idea, you know, until now he is quite in- 
terested — really. Oh, one more dinner will do 
it I am sure — [with a quick change, loyally] oh, 
you mustn't think Mr. Summers isn't perfectly 
generous, he is — he's a love — but of course 
I have to be careful and not ask at the wrong time 
— that would never do — when he's in an ill 
humor or when his dyspepsia's bad. 

Margaret. Do you have to wait long.^^ 
Mrs. Summers. [Lightly] Oh, sometimes it has 
been a whole week, and I have been so em- 
barrassed — oh frightfully — but he always makes 
up for it, he is really so generous. Of course he 
does scold me once in a while — says he slaves 
for his money. So he does, poor dear — he is 
getting awfully bald — he calls me frivolous — 
says I spend in a day what it takes him weeks 
to earn. Still, what can I do, with our position 
to maintain? 

Margaret. You see, if you earned your own 
money, Mrs. Summers, and struggled and worried 
as your husband has to, you would realize his 
point of view. You should work for your living 
as I do. 



22 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Mrs. Summers. [ShocJced] But I am married! 

Margaret. That makes no difference — you 
are a human being. He couldn't call you frivolous 
then, nor scold — nor have to be wheedled. 

Mrs. Summers. Oh, well — he likes it. Be- 
sides, I don't know what being married would be 
like without our little scenes. It is really great 
fun to see how much of a manager one can be. 
Next time I come I shall surely order the con- 
servatory. Good-bye. Oh, you take things too 
seriously, Miss Margaret. The men like us all 
the better for it. Don't you know that? Really ! 

[Exit] 

Ramsey. [Who has been observing though pre- 
tending to read a magazine] Hasn't that woman 
freedom.^ 

Margaret. License — not freedom. She is 
one of the dependent spendthrifts. Honest work, 
that is what she needs. Why, there isn't a married 
woman with any pride or self-respect who doesn't 
envy me the independence of my flower shop — 
not one who doesn't long to have a work and 
income of her own — not one who doesn't feel 
the humiliation of having to ask the man she 
loves for money, no matter how generous he may 
be. If he has a hard struggle himself it is all the 
more painful for her. 

Ramsey. [Emphatically] It ought not to be. 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 23 

Margaret. But it is! 

Ramsey. [Positively] The woman ought to be 
supported by the man. It is a law of nature. 
Do you mean to say you would not give up this 
flower shop for the man you love — if he asked it? 

Margaret. [Shaking her head] I couldn't 
be dependent upon any one — least of all the 
man I might love. 

Ramsey. Absurd ! 

Margaret. It is bad for a man, why not a 
woman? 

Ramsey. Nonsense ! Ridiculous ! 

Margaret. [Serenely] I shall always be my 
own mistress because I have my own work, my 
own pocket-book. I can come and go as I like — 
play or sing (if I had the voice) in public without 
asking leave of my lord or running the risk of 
offending his masculine pride. I am an individual. 
I am free. I have my flower shop. So I say to 
the women who sometimes weep on my shoulder, 
"Follow my example. Go get one of your own." 

Ramsey. You have followers then? 

Margaret. Yes, — thirty. [With sudden eager 
impetuosity] Don't you see, William? It isn't 
only because I want women to be free. I want 
them to grow, to be larger, nobler, more beauti- 
ful — I want them to care for other children as 
well as their own — for the common life, for 



24 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

justice, for big ideas. That is it, William. I 
want them to care, and they can't until they take 
part in the life outside their four walls. They've 
been amateurs so long 

Polly. [Announcing] Mrs. Knight, Miss 
Margaret. 

Enter Mrs. Knight, a crushed and fright- 
ened looking woman, who would like to he 
"perky'' but doesn't quite dare. She is 
dressed in deep mourning. 

Margaret. Ah, Mrs. Knight, — what can 
I do for you? 

Mrs. Knight. I have come to pay my bills. 
Miss Bell. The funeral was lovely. Mr. Knight 
would have been pleased if he could have sat up 
in his coffin and seen all those flowers! [With a 
large satisfied sigh] My, what a fine showing they 
made! ahem! I mean he would have been pleased 
if he hadn't known what they cost. [Stage whisper] 
My, what a scolding I've escaped. You see, poor 
old Hezekiah — he couldn't bear to spend his 
money; that is, I mean he couldn't bear to have me 
spend it, though he was a good provider — spe- 
cially a good table provider. I must say that for 
him. He was fond of good eating, Hezekiah was, 
and he had plenty of money. There, my dear — 
[she counts out some bills and fingers them lovingly] 
I hate to give them up. It feels so good to handle 



ACT I THE FLO^VER SHOP 25 

a little money after all these years. You don't 
know what that means, Miss Bell. I have often 
envied you. You can spend your own money. 

Margaret. And earn it, too, — which is 
better still, Mrs. Knight. 

Mrs. Knight. But think of me, my dear. 
Hezekiah never let me spend a cent myself — 
why, it seemed as if he couldn't bear to — even 
five cents for a spool of thread. He always 
wanted to put it down on the counter himself. 
It was so mortifying sometimes, Miss Bell. 
[Sheds a few tears] ^Vhy, I've been no better than 
a slave. [Awed warning] Don't ever marry, Miss 
Bell. Don't ever give up your own money. 
My! how good it feels to have a pocketbook of 
one's own. I feel like a free woman. [Chuckling 
timidly] He has only been dead a month and I 
have spent in that time [whispers in Margaret's 
ear] — there! [Gets quite chipper and gay] I don't 
dare say it out loud or Hezekiah would rise in his 
grave. [She starts to go out then comes back, 
catching herself cautiously looking around as if to 
see if her husband's ghost were ready to reprimand 
her for her extravagance and what she is about to do] 
I think I'll have more flowers. Aren't they for 
the living as well as the dead? I never could buy 
any when Hezekiah was alive because he wouldn't 
spend the money, but now — now — what's to 



26 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

hinder? I have always loved flowers — I'll take 
that whole bunch of roses. 

Polly. There are three dozen here, Mrs. 
Knight. 

[Polly puts them in a box.] 

Mrs. Knight. I don't care. Send them up. 
The whole three dozen! I think I'll have flowers 
every day in the year. Why shouldn't I.f^ Who's 
to stop me? [Looks fearfully over her shoulder 
again] I will spend one hundred dollars a month, 
Miss Bell — cut flowers every day — yes, one 
hundred dollars a month — that is an order. 
Write it down quick. I'll come and pay you 
myself every month — in cash — the dear dollars 
— I love to feel them and they are mine too — 
mine — there's a beginning. [Puts bills on the 
table] Ho, ho, Hezekiah! Flowers every day! 
One hundred dollars a month! Now I'll get 
even, Hezekiah — I'll get even! 

Chuckling to herself Mrs. Knight goes out. 

Margaret. The pity is, there are more Mrs. 
Knights in the world than one dreams of — and 
not all in mourning, either. 

Polly. [Catching sight of Dave in the con- 
servatory] All men are not like Hezekiah Knight. 

Margaret. Why no, dear, of course not. 

Polly. Some are generous and kind. 

Margaret. Certainly, child. It is the sys- 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 27 

tern that is wrong. I have nothing against men, 
Ramsey. God knows they have a hard enough 
struggle. 

Margaret. I know the same struggle — the 
wear and tear — the anxiety. 

Polly. Then I don't see why you talk as you 
do. 

Margaret. Don't you see — I would rather 
face it myself than ask a man to do it for me. 

Polly. It is a man's 'place. I wouldn't 
marry a man if he wasn't glad to take care of me — 
excuse me, Miss Margaret. I am forgetting 
myself. [Runs of.\ 

Ramsey. You have not made much im- 
pression upon your own girls, I must say. [ Throw- 
ing magazine upon table] The child is right. You 
lead a lorn hope. Ha, ha ! [Laughs at her] 

Polly. [Announcing at the door] Oh, Miss 
Margaret, the bride's coming. And the bride- 
groom, too. She wants to see her wedding bell I 
know. 

Enter Cornelia von Schlegel and Mr. 
Charles Dunn. She is an exquisite 
creature, picturesque but capable. He is 
a man of the world, faultlessly attired. 
He lingers in the outer shop to buy violets 
for Cornelia and a boutoniere for 
himself. 



28 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Cornelia. How are you, Margaret? 

[They greet one another.] 

Margaret. I have your orange blossoms. 

[Producing a hox.] 

Cornelia. [Glancing at them and half caressing 
the wedding bell] They are lovely. I am so happy 
and yet — I am troubled about something. 
Tell me, Margaret, would you really keep your 
flower shop — if you were married .^^ 

Margaret. Yes. Why should I give it up? 

Cornelia. [Hesitating — in a low voice^ draw- 
ing her to one side, out of the hearing of Ramsey] 
But if — if — Stephen Hartwell should ask it? 

Margaret. [With a catch in her voice] Stephen 
Hartwell! Don't speak of him. 

Cornelia. But supposing he should come — 
and should ask you — to give it up — what then? 

Margaret. You mustn't suppose what is 
perfectly impossible, Cornelia. 

Cornelia. You love him. He will hear the 
call of it and come some day, and then what? 

Margaret. You forget — he doesn't love me. 

Cornelia. You never gave him a chance to 
tell you. 

Margaret. I wrote him. He did not 
answer. 

Cornelia. The letter may have been lost. 

Margaret. It is not likely. But why do you 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 29 

ask me this? I have my work. I believe in it. 
I couldn't give it up. 

Cornelia. I wanted you to see how hard it is 
for me 

Margaret. [Surprised into a louder tone] Cor- 
nelia, you are not going to give up your 
studio? 

Cornelia. Yes, I have to. 

Margaret. I am sorry. Will you be happy 
without your work? 

Cornelia. No, but Charles feels so strongly 
about it. He says he is not interested in miniature 
painting. I think he is even now a little jealous 
of my work. He wants me all to himself. He 
loves me so much, I feel as if I must do as he 
wishes, don't you think I ought? 

Margaret. No. You shouldn't give up 
your work. 

Charles. [Drawing near] What's this? 

Cornelia. Miss Bell thinks I ought not to 
give up my studio. 

Charles. [Uncomprehending] What? Oh, 
how absurd! Come, my dear. The car is 
waiting. [Hands her the violets.] 

Cornelia. Oh, thank you. [He goes. She 
follows to the door and then comes hastily back] 
You see he is most thoughtful, Margaret. I can't 
bear to oppose him now. I know you are right, 



30 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

dear; but after a while I am sure he will see it our 
way and let me have my studio. 

Margaret. [Half smiling] Never again ! You 
are lost — hopelessly lost. 

Cornelia and Charles go out. 

Ramsey. So this is Margaret! I might have 
known it. [He goes up to her, his manner very 
masterful] I will tell you what is the matter with 
you. You need to be in love — thoroughly,madly, 
desperately in love. 

Margaret . Why ? 

Ramsey. Then you would see the utter fu- 
tility — and nonsense of all these notions of 
yours. 

Margaret. Notions ! They are the actuating 
principles of my life. 

Ramsey. Nonsense, I say. There is only one 
actuating principle of a woman's life. The need 
to love and be loved. 

Margaret. Yes, under right conditions. 

Ramsey. Conditions! Ha, ha! Don't you 
know a woman who loves — with a love that is 
at all worthy of the name — never makes con- 
ditions? No, I tell you it is all false, this talk of 
freedom. Wait till you find yourself in the grip 
of the mighty forces of nature; wait till a live 
passion takes hold of your heart; your ideas will 
vanish like smoke. 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 31 

Margaret. I am not so weak as you think. 

R.iMSEY. Weak? You strong women are 
weaker than the weakest when you love. 

Margaret. Indeed we are not. 

Ramsey. You are. Shall I tell you why.^ 
Because of your very strength — you have more 
love to give. You were unyielding in your 
opposition to me years ago because you really 
did not love me. 

Margaret. I thought I did at the time. 

Ramsey. But you didn't. That is a proof of 
it. You will give all — a rich all and without 
question — to the man you love. 

Margaret. I shall never yield a principle. 

Ramsey. You will, I say. 

Margaret. Why do you think that? 

Ramsey. [Masterfully] You are a woman^ like 
the rest. I know women. Once we get our 
hands on your hearts we can mould you to our 
will. We can do what we please with you — 
we are your masters — eternally your masters. 
That's another law of nature. It has nothing to 
do with the pocketbook, either. [Looks her square 
in the eye.] Do j^ou mean to say you don't know 
I am right? 

Margaret is silent. 

Ramsey. Answer me. 

Margaret turns away. 



32 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Ramsey. Your silence means but one thing. 
You do know and through your own personal 
experience. Then you have cared for some one 
since we separated — still silent! By Jove, there's 
nothing I'd like better than to see you head over 
heels in love like any other woman. 

Margaret. [Her voice belying her words] 
There is no probability that you will ever see 
that day. 

Ramsey. Hm. [Eying her closely] I wonder 
what sort of a man would do it. [Teasingly] 
Some weakling, probably. Some one you could 
make "a man" of — as they say, — eh? 

[Smiling at her.] 

Margaret. [Catching his humor] 1 prefer a 
man already made — and made by himself 

Ramsey. Not one who leans on you, e\i? 

Margaret. No. 

Ramsey. [Sarcastically] That is good! You 
want a strong man! 

Margaret. Of course. 

Ramsey. [Smiling] One that will beat the life 
out of you, eh.? 

Margaret. \Wiih an amused flash] If I had 
wanted that kind of strength I should never 
have dismissed you, William. [Pauses] There 
is a strength which is gentle. 

Ramsey. Hm. The Stephen Hartwell kind, 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 33 

I suppose. [Margaret starts perceptibly, Ram- 
sey notices it] Ha — what? We are on the scent 
at last. I remember now. I heard you had an 
affair with a rich man. He cared, they said, and 
you broke it off — suddenly disappeared. So he is 
the one! Stephen Hartwell, our talented at- 
torney, likely to be "Judge" Hartwell soon, if 
I can silence his critics — I am managing his 
campaign. He is running on our ticket. So 
that's your "strength which is gentle," eh.? Ha! 
It may cost him his office. His enemies say he 
has too much sympathy for a judge — too 
philosophic — that he has boasted he would 
never send anybody to prison if he could help it. 
But of course the poor will stand by him. I say, 
didn't you care for him? [Margaret betrays 
considerable agitation] No, you couldn't have 
cared or — well, if you do you will have a chance 
to make it right. He came down on the same 
train with us. [Margaret turns in surprise] 
Does he know you are here — working under an 
assumed name? 

Margaret. No, no. 

Ramsey. Then I will tell him. 

Margaret. You must not. [Eagerly, for- 
getting herself] He is here? Now? 

Ramsey. [Looking at her] God, you never 
looked like that for me — I see the end of your 



34 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

flower shop. You a champion of woman? Ha, 
ha! Wait till I find Hartwell. [Moves to door,] 

Margaret. [Protesting] You will not bring 
him here? 

Ramsey. I certainly shall. 

Margaret. Not without my wish. 

Ramsey. [Close to her] Look here, you are 
dying to see him. You know it. 

Margaret. [Faintly] No — no. 

Ramsey. Then why are you so agitated? 
Oh, you women — you women ! You are as 
transparent as — Look here ! Do you know why 
I am going to bring him here? It is not to make 
you happy. I want to see the look on your face 
when you meet — I want to see you a mere, 
helpless, traditional woman in the grip of the 
forces of nature. I want to see Margaret Kendall 
mastered — do you hear — mastered! I'd give 
half my life to conquer you, you proud, beautiful 
woman! / couldn't. Hartwell may. I want 
to see. You are a brainy woman, Margaret, 
but there are things you need to learn 

Margaret. [Quivering, stirred, proud, angry, 
in a low voice] There are things you need to learn, 
William. Is there nothing in you but the instinct 
for mastership? Do you care nothing for the 
value of a woman's life for itself? I should like 
to see you conquered. 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 35 

Ramsey. [Laughing] Me conquered? How? 

Margaret. There is only one way I can think 
of — I would like to see you wedded to a woman 
who would assert her independence. 

Ramsey. [Amused at her words — then jouce 
to jajce with her\ So in love, you'd throw freedom, 
flower shop to the winds — utterly conquered ! 
down on your knees! to the man you 
love. 

Margaret. [Taunting him] Wedded to a wife 
who would sing in public! Ah, if Louise's voice 
would but return! How I would help her! 

Ramsey. You would do nothing of the kind. 

Margaret. I would, I would. See, you are 
afraid already. 

Ramsey. I should not allow it, — but thank 
God, there is not the slightest chance of your 
disturbing my domestic peace. Her voice is 
dead, and there is nothing else she can do. 

Margaret. Wait and see. 

Ramsey. [In a low voice, threateningly] Don't 
you dare to put any of your ideas into her head. 
Polly knocks and opens door. 

Polly. It is a lady, — on a personal matter. 

Margaret. Show her in. 

Enter Louise Ramsey, a breezy, handsome 
woman, fine, erect carriage, 

Margaret. Louise ! 



^6 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Louise. Margaret! [They embrace] William, 
you here? Why [looks at the flushed faces of 
the two], have you been quarreling? 

Margaret. Your husband and I are old 
antagonists. We always become aware of our 
very good fighting qualities when we meet. 

Louise. William, dear, I am very anxious to 
see Margaret alone. It is so long since we met. 
Would you mind — er 

Ramsey. Yes, yes, certainly. I will go and 
call for you later. Besides, I think Miss Kendall 
and I have finished for a time. \With meaning] 
I will bring Stephen Hartwell with me, if I can 
find him. Miss Kendall. [Margaret flashes a 
glance at him. He turns to Louise.] They are 
old friends, I believe. 

Margaret. You had better not be long, Mr. 
Ramsey. 

Ramsey. Indeed? 

Margaret. [Signiflcantly] The flower shop 
may gain a convert. 

Ramsey. Not in my case. I am sure of my 
grip. [Exit Ramsey.] 

Louise. Heavens! How you must hate each 
other! What were you talking about? 

Margaret. Only the love of conquest. Now, 
tell me about yourself. Let me look at you. 
How happy you look — and beautiful still — 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 37 

why, you are positively radiant. You always 
were like an April breeze. [Kissing her.] 

Louise. Oh, my dear! I cannot keep the 
secret any longer — I have the most wonderful 
news to tell you. No one knows — not even 
William. The most maivellous thing has hap- 
pened. It is a miracle. 

Margaret. Tell me. 

[They sit.] 

Louise. You could never guess! Oh, Mar- 
garet, Margaret! My voice has come back! 

Margaret. [Rising and grasping her by the 
wrist] No! 

Margaret looks at the door through which 
Ramsey has just passed. 

Louise. Yes — it is true. The same tones — 
timber — richness, I scarcely dare breathe it, 
but Margaret, it is even more glorious. 

Margaret. You have not told William? 

Louise. No, not a word. [Walking up and 
down] Oh, if you could know the joy of it ! Margaret ! 

Margaret. [Eagerly] Have you tried it in 
public — thought of joining a company.^ 

Louise. No, our town is so isolated, but I 
am praying for the chance. I thought when I 
reached New York I might find an old friend 

Margaret. Louise! your chance is here. 
Who do you think is in town ! Ten Ey ck ! 



38 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Louise. Really ! 

Margaret. Yes! His star has failed him. 
He wants some one at once — to-morrow ! 

Louise. Oh, Margaret! It was Providence 
that sent me here, 

Margaret. Would you do it.^^ Would you 
join him? 

Louise. [Excited] Yes, yes. I am fairly wild 
at the thought. 

Margaret. We will have him here in a few 
moments. [Goes to the door] Lena, will you call 
up the Opera House, please, and ask for Mr. Ten 
Eyck. Tell him I would like to see him here 
at once. It is very important. 

Louise. Oh, thank you! Margaret dear 
[walks about the room], I can scarcely contain 
myself when I think of it. I am on the tiptoe 
of joy! To hold an audience in my grasp once 
more — to feel that multitude of hearts thrill and 
tremble at my will — the tones pouring from my 
throat, bearing me up, up to the very gates of 
heaven, then the intoxicating burst of applause 
at the end sustaining me there — oh ! [with 
ecstatic outburst] God is so good to me ! 

Margaret. [Moved by Louise's ardor] To 
hear your enthusiasm I almost fancy my voice 
must return too. I have a thrill I haven't felt 
for years. Tell me how it all happened. 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 39 

Louise. It was after the birth of my child. 

Lena. [Appears at the door] Mr. Ten Eyck 
will be here in a few moments. 

Margaret. [Eagerly] Very well. Go on, 
Louise. 

Louise. It was completely gone after that 
illness, just as yours was. 

Margaret. What did you do? 

Louise. I stayed at home; utterly miserable 
and inconsolable. I know you were pluckier 
than I was; oh, yes, I heard of what courage you 
had, how you took your mother's name and began 
to raise violets for a living. 

Margaret. The violets helped me to forget — 
amused me until I saw that a life passion might 
be worked out even through violets. 

Louise. But / — I was prostrated. Every 
night I prayed for my voice. Every morning I 
sprang out of bed trembling with hope — per- 
haps my prayer had been answered while I 
slept — but when I opened my mouth to sing 
there was that impossible veil over my throat. 
It was awful. I thought I should die. 

Margaret. And then? 

Louise. [Naively] Well, then I married. 
There seemed to be nothing else to do. William 
has been a good husband; I love him, and he 
loves me. I have wanted for nothing. Life 



40 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

has run along smoothly enough. I could never 
forget my voice — never. I have had to be 
content to be merely a wife. Then our little 
Louise was born — I forgot my sorrow. [Mar- 
garet listens with quick sympathy] One morning 
she was crying. I began to croon a little, think- 
ing only of soothing her. At the first note I 
almost fainted with joy, for Margaret, there was 
my voice, alive once more, loosed from the terrible 
bondage, greater than ever after the long sleep. 
I am transported with joy. Think of it! To 
have my husband, my baby, and now my voice, 
my art, my public! Am I not blessed above all 
women ! 

Margaret. [Putting her hands on Louise's 
shoulders and looking her in the face] My poor 
Louise ! 

Louise. What is it.^^ 

Margaret. You are married to William 
Ramsey. Have you thought of that.? 

Louise. [Alarmed] What do you mean.^^ 

Margaret. I am afraid your voice had better 
have stayed dead; unless — unless — tell me, 
have you the courage, do you seriously mean that 
you will sing to the world again .^^ 

Louise. Yes! A thousand times yes! [With 
enthusiasm] Am I not the artist as well as the 
woman? God gave me my voice as he gave me 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 41 

my child. What is a voice without an audi- 
ence — an adoring public? It is the air in which 
it breathes. 

Margaret. You will not let your marriage 
stand in the way.^ 

Louise. [Passionately] A hundred marriages 
will not stop me! Why else did God return my 
treasure.^ To bury it again, hide it under a 
bushel.'^ Ah no — I shall enter my kingdom — 
be once more a queen — there is none greater in 
the w^orld than the queen of song! To her even 
the queen of state pays tribute. 

Margaret. Louise, stop — stop ! You must 
realize a little of what is before you. 

Louise. Nothing can prevent me. 

Margaret. You have not told your husband, 
spoken of all this to him. 

Louise. No. 

Margaret. Why? 

Louise. [Pausing] I don't know — I — I — 



Margaret. I will tell you. Your instinct 
told you it wasn't safe. 

Louise. Well, until I had something definite — 
I had a vague feeling he might not be interested — 
I wanted to see you first. 

Margaret. [With a low, short, wild little 
laugh] Interested! Hum. 



42 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Louise. Margaret — what do you mean? 
Speak out. 

Margaret. [With strong and significant em- 
phasis] I mean this: that when you tell William 
Ramsey what you intend to do, the fight of your 
life is begun. 

Louise. What? 

Margaret. Yes, — a grim fight — a life and 
death struggle as an artist. I know William 
Ramsey. What does he care for your voice — 
nothing! Let the wife try to be the singer! 
Ha, you will see! 

Louise. Margaret ! 

Margaret. William Ramsey would never 
have married you if you had not lost your voice — 

Louise. Yes, he would. He loves me, Mar- 
garet 

Margaret. Put him to the test, now is your 
chance. Why, Louise, I know William Ramsey 
to the core. Kindness in all the details of life, 
but this one thing of woman's right to her own 
talent. Touch him there and he is harsh, cruel, 
bitter, and when you see this side of his nature 
you will feel every art instinct within you shrivel 
and dry up. You will not even desire to sing. 
Wait till you feel the mailed hand. 

Louise. [Protesting vigorously] I can't believe 
my husband is as you say. I will not neglect him. 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 43 

Margaret. It isn't that. It is the idea — in 
the blood — generations back — centuries old. 

Louise. What right has he to keep me from 
singing to the world .^ 

Margaret. No right, but he thinks he has. 
You are his wife. That is enough for him. 
You are dependent upon him for a living. If 
Ten Eyck will take you, are you ready to tell 
William Ramsey to-day? 

Louise. I am not afraid. I will dare every- 
thing. The very thought of his presuming to 
interfere with my life as an artist makes me 
furious. Let me once see Ten Eyck. 

Margaret. [Ea^eW?/] Then I will help you. I will 
stand by you. I could move mountains for you ! 

Louise. You are good to help me, Margaret. 

Margaret. [With intense feeling] It is not 
you alone I am helping — but through you, a 
thousand other women. Louise — you must sing 
— and sing as never before. You must conquer 
William Ramsey. 

Louise. Margaret, what did William do to 
you that you are so fierce, so agitated.^ 

Lena. [Announces] Mr. Ten Eyck, Miss 
Margaret. 

Enter Ten Eyck. 

Margaret. Ah. [Greets him] Look, friend — 
do you see who it is? 



44 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

Ten Eyck. Louise! [Grasps both her hands.] 

Margaret. My voice is dead, but Louise's — 
Louise's 

Louise. It has come back. 

Ten Eyck. No! Is it true.^ 

Margaret. More glorious than ever. There 
is your star, Ten Eyck. 

Ten Eyck. Louise, are you ready to take up 
the work? Can you join the company at once.f^ 

Margaret. [Mischievously] She has only to 
tell her husband. 

Ten Eyck. [His enthusiasm dropping several 
degrees] Ah — there is a husband ! What a pity ! 

Margaret. And yet you were advising me ! 

Ten Eyck. When a woman wants to do any 
work, they are a nuisance. 

Louise. [Proudly] It will make no difference 
in my case — I can adjust my life to suit myself. 
I have a splendid nurse for my child. 

Ten Eyck. [Temporizing] The season is short. 

Margaret. There is no reason in the world, 
Ten Eyck, — once you convince her husband. 

Ten Eyck. That is what I am afraid of. I 
do not like that husband idea, I must say. Will 
he stir up a row — object to anything? What 
do you think, Louise? Will he permit you? 

Louise. [Proudly] Permit? This is enough. 
Ten Eyck. You are talking to the artist, Louise 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 45 

van Anden. Private matters I am quite com- 
petent to care for in a private way. 

Ten Eyck. Good ! This is the old Louise, eh, 
Margaret? Well then, — can you come to the 
theater now? A rehearsal is going on. We can 
try your voice at once. 

Louise. Yes, this moment. Oh, Margaret, 
isn't it like old times ! If only you too 

Margaret. Never mind me. If you triumph 
I shall be happier than you can ever guess. If 
I were only sure of you 

Ten Eyck. Yes. Will you sign a contract, 
Louise? 

Louise. I will sign anything! — anything ! 
Only let me sing — sing — sing ! Let me get 
to the theater. Oh, I can wait no longer. [Al- 
most at door, turns back to Margaret] Do you 
doubt me, Margaret? 

Margaret. You have not yet had your 
interview. 

Louise. What can I do to make you sure of 
me? 

Margaret. I am afraid when William sees 
the contract 

Louise. He will destroy it? Never. I will 
tell you what I will do — I will send the contract 
here — for you to keep for me. 

Margaret. I shall not give it up except on 



46 THE FLOWER SHOP act i 

your order; and I shall hold you to it. Is it 
understood? 

Louise. [Laughing joyously] Yes. Hold me 
to it. You will have no difficulty. 

Margaret. This door is nearer the Opera 
House. 

Louise. Come, Ten Eyck. I am impatient. 
T will send the contract, Margaret. Oh, isn't 
it glorious! 

[Exeunt.] 

Margaret. [Calling after her] Oh, Louise? 

Louise. [Without] Yes? 

Margaret. Come back and tell me how your 
voice sounds in the theater 

Louise. [Without] Yes, yes, I will 



Margaret. And how William takes the news. 

Margaret laughs softly to herself as she 
gathers a bunch of roses from the table 
and moves across the room — murmurs 
''How William takes the news! Ha, ha!*^ 

Enter Ramsey with Stephen Hartwell, 
a tally dark-eyed y distinguished-looking 
man of a little over forty, slightly grayed 
at the temples; with the measured calm and 
quiet dignity of the judicial temperament, 
warmed by a rare human sympathy, at 
once deep, tender, and reserved, strong, 
thoughtful, compelling. Margaret does 



ACT I THE FLOWER SHOP 47 

not see him at first for he is standing 
behind some bay trees. 

Ramsey. Is my wife here? 

Margaret. [Half turning] She has just gone. 

Ramsey. Here is an old friend you will be 
glad to see. 

Margaret turning fully about sees Stephen 
Hartwell. She looks at him as if he 
had risen from the dead, her soul in her 
face. As she gazes at him and he at her, 
the flowers slowly slip from her arms to the 
floor. Ramsey glances from one to the 
other, and with a final significant glance 
at Margaret which she does not see, he 
goes out smiling to himself. 

Hartwell. [Taking a step toward her with 
outstretched arms] "Margaret!" 

Curtain 



ACT II 

Same Scene: a few moments later. 

Margaret stands voiceless, motionless, un- 
resisting in Hartwell's arms. Finally 
her head falls softly on his shoulder. 

Margaret. You have come. 

Hart WELL. [Putting his hand upon her head 
and holding it back as he looks down into her face. 
His voice is deep, gentle, rich] Margaret, Mar- 
garet, you do care. 

Margaret. Yes. 

Hartwell. You have cared all this while. 

Margaret. Yes. 

Hartwell. I read it in your face. You have 
suffered as I have. Why did you run away and 
hide yourself behind another name and a strange 
work.f^ You saw how I loved you. 

Margaret. [Drinking in the look of his face] 
You have come ! You have come ! [Puts her arms 
about him] Oh, my dear! 

Hartwell. How could you leave me alone 
these three years — so hopeless, Margaret? 

Margaret. [Brokenly] 1 thought you had 
ceased to care. 

Hartwell. Not one word. 

48 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 49 

Margaret. [Drawing bach] ^ly letter? Did 
you not receive it? 

Hartwell. No, when did you write? 

Margaret. The summer after I left. 

Hartwell. When I was abroad. 

Margaret. I have waited all this time for 
the answer. 

Hartwell. I looked a year for that letter. 
Then I gave up. But I couldn't forget. Day 
and night your eyes have been looking into mine, 
and you, you have thought of me 

Margaret. Always ! Your voice, Stephen — 
how I have hungered for one single tone — how 
good it is to hear it now ! — I lean upon it and 
gather strength. It is rest and music for one's 
soul. 

Hartwell. [Caressing her] My love! I have 
found you again. Oh, these lost three years. 
How shall we ever make them up ! But we must 
not look backward; we shall have a happiness that 
will more than fill their measure. How I will 
care for you, Margaret. No work any more, 
dear. Luxury and ease await you, — ah, we shall 
be happy. You will soon forget this flower shop. 

Margaret. [Moves from him, dazed, startled 
into recollection of something completely forgotten] 
My flower shop! [Gazes straight in front of her] 
My flower shop. I had forgotten. Stephen, I 



50 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

can't. [Sinks into chair. Her voice is pleading^ 
not defiant] Unless it were possible for you to 

understand — oh, if you only could understand 

[Hartwell bends over her.] 
Hartwell. Dear, what is it? 

Margaret starts as if to speak, and then 
stops, looking up at him helplessly. 
Hartwell. What is it you wish me to under- 
stand, Margaret.? Tell me. 

Margaret droops lovingly toward Hart- 
well and shakes her head. Throughout 
the scene she finds it extremely difficult to 
present her case to Hartwell. 
Hartwell. You mean you cannot marry me? 
Margaret. [Quietly] I am afraid it is impossi- 
ble. 

Hartwell. You love me? 
Margaret. Oh yes, yes. I love you. [Kiss- 
ing him passionately] I love you. 

Hartwell. Then I don't understand. Tell 
me. 

Margaret. Do you know why I ran away 
from you? 

Hartwell. No. What was it? 
Margaret. Because I was poor. 
Hartwell. Margaret ! 

Margaret. [Gently] There, you see! You 
cannot understand that. You are rich. You 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 51 

don't know what it means for a woman to work 
for her living and be always independent. 

Hartwell. You are too proud, Margaret. 

Margaret. Yes, perhaps — but that was 
why I disappeared. I had lost my voice. I was 
humiliated. I felt the shame that a tropical 
bird must feel suddenly shorn of its color and 
brilliance, not knowing where to hide its head. 
I was so tired — oh, so tired 

Hartwell. Then why, why did you turn from 
me, at the very time when love should minister? 

Margaret. I longed to creep into the shelter 
of your arms and rest and forget. It would have 
been the peace of heaven. 

Hartwell. Why didn't you come, dear.'^ 

Margaret. I was afraid that I would. That 
was the temptation. 

Hartwell. The temptation? You strange 
child! I don't understand. 

Margaret. It is this way. I have always 
despised a woman for marrying simply because 
she was tired of working and supporting herself. 
So many do. I did not want to be so weak — I 
saw you loved me. I knew you must soon speak. 
I wished to avoid it. I was afraid I would yield. 

Hartwell. But if you loved me, why should 
you not? 

Margaret. I feared my love might be 



52 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

gratitude, might be the thing I despised, because I 
was so tired. I wanted to test it, to see if my 
feeling were really love; I wanted to stand on my 
own feet, to come to you in the glory of strength. 
Then I thought I could send for you in all honor. 
So when the little farm violets grew to this [in- 
dicating the flower shop], I wrote the letter which 
never reached you. I thought I had grown used 
to denials and sorrows and knew how to endure, 
but this was different. Somehow, I couldn't — 
[With a little catch in her voice] It has been hard, 
Stephen. 

Hartwell. No more sorrows, dear. I will 
drive them away — already your face is changing. 
Your beautiful face — I know every line of it. 

Margaret. I wrote for you to come, and when 
you didn't come I thought I had been mistaken 
in the signs, that you really didn't care for me 
as I had thought — so I gave up. 

Hartwell. But now that you know, now 
that you have won out so splendidly in your 
struggle and can come to me in the glory of your 
strength with a personal triumph such as few 
women even care to win — now that I am here — 
what is there in the way? 

Margaret. There is something else, which 
unless you understand — oh, do understand. I 
cannot give you up now. I thought I was 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 53 

strong, — your presence teaches me how in- 
complete I am alone, shows me how greatly I 
need you. I love you. I cannot give you up. 

Hart WELL. Nor shall I give you up. Why 
should I.^ What is there in the way.'^ 

Margaret. [Her head upon his shoulder, dis- 
armed by his gentleness] My work. 

Hartw^ell. Your work? 

Margaret. [Lifting her head and gathering 
courage] Yes — you see, it has become so much 
more to me than necessary self-support. It has 
taught me wonderful things about life — about other 
women, their needs, — and what I can do for them. 

Hartwell. Yes, dear? 

Margaret. I have become — through this 
little flower shop and the women who gather here 
every week — tliey are coming this very after- 
noon — I have become a teacher, a pioneer, a sort 
of forerunner. They look to me to set the ex- 
ample, to point the way 

Hartwell. To what, dear? 

Margaret. To freedom — and all that that 
means — opportunity, growth, happiness. Oh, 
for myself I could snatch at the joy — be your 
slave — kneel at your feet and be happy. But 
there are those who turn to me — I have a faith — 
I must be true to it — it is that which is in the 
way — unless you see it too. Oh, if you only could ! 



54 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

Hartwell. What is the faith, dear? 

Margaret. [Very gently] I must be free! 
that I may teach freedom. 

Hartwell. You should be free — never by 
word or deed would I encroach on your freedom, 
Margaret. 

Margaret. You do not understand. If I 
marry you in the usual way I shall have to give 
up my freedom. 

Hartwell. No, dear — you will not. 

Margaret. [Still very gently] What to me is 
freedom. Tell me, could you marry me and let 
me keep my flower shop? 

Hartwell. But why should you? I am rich. 
I have more than enough for us both — for the 
rest of our lives. 

Margaret. I know that, dear. But do you 
not see, your possessions give you your freedom, 
not mine. I must have my own. It is not a 
whim, dear, but a deep-rooted belief which is 
sacred to me. I must prove to the world in my 
own personal life what I believe, that a woman 
should have her social work, and the income from 
it — all apart from the man she loves. 

Hartwell. You should have your own in- 
come, Margaret. I can arrange that. 

Margaret. [Painfully going on] It would still 
be your gift, dear, don't you see? I must earn 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 55 

it myself, for the sake of my own integrity. Oh, 
if we could do this thing together, Stephen, show 
that freedom and love can go hand in hand — it 
would be so splendid ! 

Hartwell. Isn't it a strange idea of freedom, 
Margaret — for a woman? 

Margaret. It is the basic freedom for both 
man and woman. 

Hartwell. [Thoughtfully considering, with an 
effort to be perfectly fair] Keep your flower shop — 
as my wife. Is that it? 

Margaret. [Tensely waiting] Yes. 

Polly knocks and announces, "Mr. Ram- 
sey, Miss Margaret.*' Something of 
Margaret's defiance comes back at the 
mention of Ramsey's name. She rises 
to receive him. 
Enter Ramsey. He glances from one to 
the other in keen enjoyment. 
Ramsey. By the way, did my wife leave any 
word for me — where she was going? 

Margaret. No, she left no word for you. 
She has something quite important to tell you, 
however. 

Ramsey. Indeed? 

Margaret. Yes. I think I am safe in saying 
that the flower shop has gained a convert — an 
ardent convert. 



56 THE FLOWER SHOP act n 

Ramsey. [Lightly] Oh? Nothing serious. 
[Glances at Hartwell and says to Margaret as 
he crosses to him] How is my traditional woman 
coming on.f^ 

Margaret. [Under her breath] You are cruel. 

Ramsey. [To Hartwell] Have you seen the 
News this morning, Hartwell.'^ They attack 
you again — on the same old score. 

Hartwell. For being too human .^ I sup- 
pose so. 

Ramsey. Yes — too lenient — but this time 
it's "too friendly toward the criminal classes." 
Fortunately I have the "Press" under my control 
— so don't worry ! I'll look out for it. 

Hartwell. Yes, I rely on your management. 
[ Turning to Margaret] Mr. Ramsey usually puts 
through what he undertakes. 

Ramsey. Now, about my wife — Miss Ken- 
dall — will you please explain 

Hartwell. [Crossing to Margaret] I think 
I will just step across the street for a few mo- 
ments. It is evidently something personal. 

Ramsey. Don't let me send you off, Mr. 
Hartwell — I only want to see Miss Kendall a 
moment. 

Hartwell. I shall be back directly. [To 
Margaret] Let him have his say. 

Margaret. Don't be long. 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 57 

Hartwell. No. [Exit] 

Ramsey. [To Margaret] Where did you say 
my wife was.^ 

Margaret. [Absent - mindcdly, thinking of 
Hartwell, her face luminous] I didn't say. 

Ramsey. Well — to be perfectly explicit — 
where did she go when she left here? 

Margaret. To the theater. 

Ramsey. To the theater.^ Oh, to get seats 
for to-night, of course. 

Margaret. Possibly. 

Raj^isey. Where is she now then — she isn't 
at the hotel. I have been looking everywhere. 

Margaret. You didn't happen to glance in at 
the costumer's, I suppose .^^ 

Ramsey. Costumer's.^ No! What do you 
mean.^ What is she up to.^ What idea have you 
put into her head? 

Margaret. I wouldn't get excited, William. 
She will probably give a full account of herself 
when she returns. 

Ra:msey. I am not excited; but I don't see 
what the mystery is, why I am not to know where 
she is. 

Margaret. Can't your wife move ^sdthout 
your knowing where she is? So completely the 
master, I suppose. 

Ramsey. You know more than you are teUing. 



58 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

I can see that. There is some secret between 
you. But then, you are perfectly right. There 
is no reason for my being worried. 

Margaret. Or curious. 

Ramsey. Or curious. Louise is quite able 
to take care of herself. 

Margaret. Quite. 

Polly knocks and enters with a large envelope 
Margaret goes to receive it. 

Polly. It was left by a special messenger. 

Margaret. Ah, from the theater. [Signs] 
Thank you. I was looking for it. 

[Glances at contents with evident pleasure.] 

Ramsey. [Down front, to himself] Costumers! 
What in the world — costumers — Hm. [To 
Margaret] How is my champion of woman .^^ I 
can see she has made progress. I told you it 
was all a figment of your fancy, nothing but 
dream stuff — your preachments on freedom. 
Still [teasingly] I didn't think the conquest would 
be so easy. [Sincerely] You really do care for 
him, don't you.^* Flower shops and principles 
are pretty cold, tame affairs once the fire flames 
in your heart. Isn't it so.? Own up! [Ad- 
miringly] Jove, you are more beautiful than you 
ever were before — more tender, more womanly — 
yes, Margaret subdued, Margaret mastered is 
really very lovely — quite tempting, in fact. 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 59 

[Seriously] You realize now that love is worth more 
than any flower shop in the world, don't you? 
[Lightly] When do you give it up? 

Margaret. [Abstractedly] I shall not give it 
up. 

Ramsey. What! Does he consent to your 
keeping it? 

Margaret. He may. 

Ramsey. Not Hartwell. He is proud. What 
a spectacle he would make — a rich man with a 
wife running a little business like this. Ha ha! 
Truly, would you put him in such a position? 

Margaret. [Half to herself] I never thought 
of that! 

Ramsey. What would his friends think of 
you? What would his family say? Have you 
ever seen his relatives? Well, they are an 
aristocratic lot, I can tell you, — all of the South. 
You marry him and you marry his sisters, 
cousins, and his aunts, to say nothing of an 
uncle or two thrown in. Really, it is amusing. 
What will you do if he refuses? 

Margaret. [Troubled] I don't know. 

Ramsey. Throw him over, as you did me? 
Margaret is silent and moves away from 
him. She looks at the door through 
which Hartwell passed. 

Ramsey. [Watching her] So you declared your 



60 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

independence to Hartwell, the man you love. 
Your heart isn't as big as I thought. 

Margaret. What do you mean? 

Ramsey. There is only one way for a woman 
like you to love and that is completely, in absolute 
surrender. Here you have actually made terms 
for your love, insulted it with an attempt at a 
bargain! I didn't think it of you, Margaret. 

Margaret. [Roused] Terms! A bargain! 

Ramsey. Yes, isn't it that.^ Isn't it.^^ I will 
marry you if you will do thus and so. I will give 
you my love — if you will accept my terms. 
Pshaw ! what a way to love ! You are a good deal 
of a disappointment, Margaret. 

Margaret. No, no. It is my faith. 

Ramsey. Talk ! If you truly loved him you'd 
realize that the living flesh and blood man is more 
to you than a lot of inanimate plants and silly 
customers. Why, you couldn't live a day 
without him. 

Margaret. You don't understand. It is a 
matter of principle. 

Ramsey. Men can fight for principles, not 
women. 

Margaret. I have sworn to be the one 
woman who can. It is for freedom. 

Ramsey. Freedom! By Jove, you've got it! 
Look at it! Do you want to know its other 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 61 

name? I will tell you. Loneliness y spelled in 
great big black letters. LONELINESS. [Mar- 
garet bends and weakens under his insistent words 
as if they were blows] Can*t I see how lonely 
you are.'^ Old age to face — not so far off, either — 
alone and childless. What a spectacle — a child- 
less woman. [Speaking in a low, rapid voice as he 
stands above her] Your heart cries out for this 
man — it is only a question of time till you 
surrender, — else you are not the magnificent 
Margaret I think you are. You will answer that 
cry of your heart in the one supreme way. You 
are in the mighty grip now. You feel it tearing at 
the roots of your being. You can scarcely keep 
your hold on your ideals, they are Hke balloons 
cut away from the earth — soon they will be lost 
to sight. Nature is too strong, Margaret. The 
instinct for motherhood is too strong, and Nature 
put that instinct there, gave it absolute and un- 
dying power over a woman's life. That is why 
you women never get anywhere in your struggle 
for liberty. Your own hearts are your enemies — 
not men. That is why you cut so ridiculous a 
figure with your little flower shops and ballots — 
you are coping with mightier forces than social 
systems — your own great divine instinct of 
motherhood — you are grappling with God him- 
self — you can't kill it. It will triumph to the 



62 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

end. And you, Margaret, you are made to be a 
mother, a glorious mother — look at you! There 
is no woman like you. You are superb, a goddess, 
created for love. Yes, you cannot keep it out 
of your face — you are quivering at the truth of 
my words — the cold flower-shop woman is 
going — the real woman shines in your eyes — 
the Margaret you should have been with me years 
ago. You a champion of freedom! Ha, ha! 
You are just a plain elemental woman — infinitely 
more worth loving in your weakness than in your 
defiance, splendid though it was. Your true life, 
your happiness, lies the way of love, as it does with 
every other woman. Isn't it so? You pas- 
sionate woman! Don't you know your own 
nature? 

Margaret. Yes. 

Ramsey. You admit it, then? 

Margaret. [With answering passion full of 
personal pain] Why should I not? It is true. I 
do hunger for love — no need to have you tell 
me — every lonely woman knows for herself — I 
long to pour out my love with all the devotion 
of which I am capable, I yearn to be loved, I 
could cry for the little arms about my neck — yes, 
I feel all these things. But no matter what you 
say, you can't make me forget the other women, 
their helplessness and their needs. Passionate 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 63 

woman! Yes! But I am capable of a passion 
you cannot conceive — a passion for a free and 
noble womanhood. Passionate woman! Ah! 
Do you think I could cling to a mere dream of the 
future, be ready to sacrifice my personal joy 
for an ideal, if it were not so, if I were not alive 
in every atom of my being? I am not alone. 
There is a ferment stirring the hearts of all 
women — I am a part of it, I can't help myself. 
My flower shop is its symbol — I hold to it as a 

liberator to his flag — a priest to his vows 

Ramsey. [Strongly ^ contemptuously] Humph! 
A priest to his vows! What are a priest's vows 
when he is alone with the woman he loves .^^ 
They are nothing before the eternal rush and sweep 
of the forces nature planted in our hearts. Al- 
ready your words have lost the ring of con- 
viction. The woman — what nature demands 
of you as a woman now — not some dim un- 
imaginable future — is already dominant. It is 
she who will be heard. She who will triumph. 
[Lowering his voice] You have caught a glimpse of 
that man's face — heard his voice .< — you will 
die, but you must hear it again — you love him — 
you have his kiss upon your lips — you have 
tasted of the wine of life — the immortal intoxi- 
cation — you must drink to the very dregs. 
There is no stopping — — 



64 THE FLOWER SHOP act u 

Margaret. [Aware that he is reading her heart 
and choking with feeling] Be still ! Be still 

Ramsey. You are mastered at last! Admit 
it! Admit it! 

Margaret. [In distress] Oh, I will not talk 
to you any more. Please to go ! 

Ramsey. You are right, of course. I beg 
your pardon. Hartwell is waiting, and I must 
find Louise. [Starts for door and stops short, look- 
ing sharply at her] I begin to suspect something. 
If she isn't at the hotel I am coming back and 
you'll have to tell me where she is. Look here, 
Margaret, I won't have any of this silly flower- 
shop independence from Louise. If you have put 
any of your ideas into her head, or put her up to 
anything — well, you'll have to pay for it. 

Margaret. [Gestures impatiently for him to go] 
Yes, yes. 

Ramsey. [Going] I won't have it, I say. 

[Exit Ramsey.] 
Margaret moves about restlessly, stops at 
table, thinks hard. Enter Hartwell. 

Margaret. [Goes eagerly to meet him, her love 
shining in her face — murmurs] I am so glad. 

Hartwell. [Tossing a newspaper on the table 
and taking her in his arms] There, I have you 
again. 

Margaret. Is it serious — the paper's attack.? 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 65 

Hartwell. Rather bitter, yes — but Ramsey 
can handle it. [Changing his tone] I thought he 
would never go. I have been waiting for him to 
come out. 

Margaret. He may come back. 

HART\yELL. [Protesting] No! 

Margaret. I am afraid so. He said he would 
if his wife were not at the hotel; he is looking for 
her. I know she's not there. I shall have to 
tell him where she is. She wants to sing — you 
see 

Hartwell. Let us talk about you, dear — 
you. 

Margaret. [Looking at watch] And it is 
almost time for my women to come, and these 
moments are so precious. 

Hartwell. [Brushing her hair back from her 
brows and framing her face with his hands] Do you 
know, dear, you grow more beautiful every 
moment — tell me, sweetheart, nothing shall 
stand in our way? 

Margaret. [Trembling — hesitatingly] If you 
could only say — Keep your flower shop, 

Hartwell. You would marry me? 

Margaret. Yes. 

Hartwell. [Gently] Really, Margaret, I don't 
see how it is possible! Why, how could I bring 
myself to put you in a doubtful position — a 



66 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

position people would question and criticize — 
they might hurt you cruelly 

Margaret. [Ardently] That is nothing — I 
am not afraid — but don't say a doubtful posi- 
tion, Stephen. It is really glorious. 

Hartwell. [With great gentleness] It is very 
brave, dear, and glorious, too, when you are 
standing alone, but when you have a husband 
who loves you, adores you — who would serve you 
devotedly with the whole of his life, I confess 
I should feel most unchivalrous, Margaret, to 
let you do it — yes — even guilty — in some sort 
of way. 

Margaret. Oh, no! 

Hartwell. Can you not understand how a 
man might feel in this matter, a man who loves 
greatly, as I do you? 

Margaret. How do you mean, dear? 

Hartwell. I have the feeling, — feudal, an- 
cestral, it may be, all men who love reverently 
must have it — the desire to protect the woman I 
love, to save her from pain and hardship, to spare 
her the sordid things of life. 

Margaret. Yes, I know; it is very beautiful, 
but 

Hartwell. It is the instinct which has lifted 
man out of barbarism and endowed him with 
whatever there is of good in his nature to-day — 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 67 

this very instinct to work for the woman he wor- 
ships. For the good of society it should be pie- 
served at all costs. It is the heart and goal of all 
his efforts — the one restraining, refining force in 
his life. It spiritualizes and ennobles him as 
motherhood does a woman. To what level would 
men sink, deprived of this supreme privilege? 
Can you not see, Margaret.^ I speak out of the 
inheritance of the ages. It is the need, the vital 
need of a man's love. 

Margaret. [Moves a little way — and mur- 
murs as if to herself] Yes, it is true — but the women 
— their needs — what does it do for them.^^ 
Idols — sex creatures. Oh, / want them to be 
more than that! 

Hart WELL. [Following] Margaret, you do 
love me.^ 

Margaret. [Turns] Look in my face! 

Hartwell. Yes, you do. Then why am I 
not all.^ With that wonder look in your eyes, 
why do you hesitate — how can you think of 
your work? Oh, say yes at once, Margaret! 
Your eyes say it — let the lips speak. Margaret, 
Margaret ! 

Margaret. [Turning away in despair] I 
cannot. I was afraid it was useless — you cannot 
understand. 

Hartwell. Can you not choose, Margaret? 



68 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

Margaret. [Helplessly] It is not a question 
of choice, don't you see? 

Hart WELL. It looks that way to me, dear; 
as if it were a choice between your flower shop 
and me. 

Margaret. Ah, I have hurt you. [In pain] 
Dear! Forgive me. I am so sorry. [Caressing 
him] I cannot help it. I am thinking of the other 
women. Don't you see how hard it is for me? 

Hart WELL. And you would let love go? 

Margaret. Would you? 

Hartwell. Not easily. I must think it out. 
I cannot grasp it yet. It is all so new — woman 
has always been for me a creature to be set apart, 
kept beautiful. I see many obstacles in the 
way. You must remember I too am proud, 
Margaret, proud as you. 

Margaret. Yes. It is that which has kept 
us apart so long. Pride with both of us. 

Hartwell. Shall we let it wreck our lives 
now? Shall we, Margaret? Shall we let this 
precious love slip from out our grasp? Love! — 
think what that means. 

Margaret. No, no, but what can I do? Oh, 
can't you find a way? 

Hartwell. If you were a singer, an artist, 
it would be comparatively easy, but in the com- 
mercial world, the prejudices of my family, the 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 69 

criticism they may subject you to — my own 
sense of chivalry — I must think it out, dear. 

Polly knocks and announces Mr. Ramsey. 
Polly. Mr. Ramsey says he must see you 
for a moment. 

Margaret. There he is! 
Polly. And the women are beginning to 
come for their meeting, Miss Margaret. 

Margaret. They must wait — it is not yet 
time. 

Hartwell. I am not going to be driven off 
this time. May I go in here.'* 

He takes newspaper, and kissing her handy 
goes into conservatory, smiling back at 
her. Margaret follows to the door, 
which she closes. She turns away with 
the reflection of his smile on her face, and 
meets Ramsey as he enters. 
Ramsey. Well, she isn't at the hotel. Now 
then — [looks around] Hartwell gone.'* 

Margaret. [Shakes her head] He's in there. 
Ramsey. [Looking keenly at her face] Hm! 
In the grip — in the grip of the mighty forces ! 
Margaret. [Raising her hand] Don't. 
Ramsey. The traditional woman — eh.'* Ha 
ha! 

Margaret. Don't! You have tortured me 
enough. [At the table, her eye falls on contract — 



70 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

she takes it up] Now I will torture you. If I am 
conquered by the old truth, so you shall be by 
the new. Louise 

Ramsey. Yes, Louise — That's just what I 
want to know — What about her.^ Quick! What 
has that paper to do with it.'^ 

Margaret. William, what if Louise should 
return to the stage? 

Ramsey. What! What are you talking about.f^ 
She has no voice. 

Margaret. Do you know why she looked so 
radiantly happy this morning? 

Ramsey. I did not notice it specially. She 
has looked that way since the baby came. 
She is naturally a buoyant disposition. You 
would gratify me by coming to the point at once. 

Margaret. I will. You said she had no 
voice. You are mistaken. She has — her voice 
has come back. 

Ramsey. Nonsense! I have known nothing 
of it. Why has she not told me? 

Margaret. She knew better. A vague in- 
stinct told her that it would not fare well at 
your hands; you might not approve of its being 
heard again in the old, fascinating, beautiful way. 

Ramsey. She is perfectly right. I do not 
approve — most certainly I do not. I shall lose 
no time in telling her so. She can do nothing 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 71 

with her voice now. She must be mad if she 
contemplates the possibiHty even for a moment. 
She has her duties to me, to her child. She has 
chosen the domestic life. She must abide by it. 

Margaret. No — she cannot. She has heard 
the imperious call of the footlights — that mad, 
irresistible, witching call. Her yoice is thrilling 
in her throat. To-morrow it will soar from the 
cords which have bound it. And a thousand 
men and women will listen spellbound and cap- 
tive 

Ramsey. She will do nothing of the sort. 
She will not oppose my wishes in this matter. 

Margaret. She will. 

Ramsey. She hasn't your spirit, I am glad 
to say. 

Margaret. I will pour my spirit into her. 

Ramsey. It is my influence, not yours, that 
counts. 

Margaret. Then I will convince you. She 
sings to-morrow night at the Opera House. The 
rehearsal was glorious — see — here is her note — 
just a word scribbled in the excitement. She is 
wdth our old manager. Ten Eyck. Doubtless she 
is at the costumers now, making ready. 

Ramsey. [Raging] I never heard of such an 
irresponsible procedure — and without consulting 
me. It is not like Louise — in the least. 



72 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

Margaret. The divine gift transforms a 
woman — she will defend it as if it were her child. 

Ramsey. I can soon put a stop to it. 

Margaret. How.^ 

Ramsey. How! I shall simply forbid it. 

Margaret. I thought you would do that, so 
I had her send the contract here to me, 

Ramsey. Contract ! 

Margaret. [Holds it up] Yes. You business 
men respect a contract, do you not? 

Ramsey. [Furious] Without my knowledge! 
or permission! How did she dare! 

Margaret. Yes, a signed contract, for six 
weeks, beginning to-morrow night. See, here is 
her signature, Louise van Anden Ramsey. 

Ramsey. Give it to me. 

Margaret. No, indeed. Your wife shall 
sing in public. Your wife, William. Think of it. 
Do you remember how you used to tell me what 
discomfort you would suffer, what humiliation 
you would undergo as the husband of a prima 
donna — how the sound of the clapping hands 
would hurt you, how the press notices and bill 
boards would cut you to the quick — it would 
be hard even to hold up one's head in the noisy 
publicity of it all — Do you remember.? I told 
you how foolish and selfish it was — and now — 
think of it, William — you are going to experience 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 73 

it all — all ! Your wife is going to sing. Do 
you grasp the idea, William? She is an opera star. 

Ramsey. [Facing her] How dare you do this 
thing? 

Margaret. [Taunting him] Wedded to an 
opera queen — Think of it ! What will people 
say? How will it look? Now are you con- 
quered, William Ramsey 

Ramsey. She has no right to do this thing. 
Nor you neither. 

Margaret. No right? 

Ramsey. She is my wife. 

Margaret. Yours, yours! Because you feed 
her and clothe her and house her! [Impetuously 
and passionately] Wouldn't it make a difference 
if she could do these things for herself? Then 
she would have the right to her own life — the 
right to satisfy every one of her instincts — all 
the play and art and joy and service of which she 
is capable — without asking her master's leave. 
Now she is your wife — the human being whose 
wings you have a right to clip, whose genius you 
can stifle — because she hasn't her own freedom — 
her own flower shop. Now do you understand? 

Ramsey. [Impervious] Contract or no con- 
tract — I say she shall not sing. 

Margaret. But she shall! I hold her to it. 
Ten Eyck holds her also. 



74 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

Ramsey. I command you to give me that 
paper. It concerns my wife, my honor. Why 
in the name of heaven do you make it your affair? 

Margaret. Because she is a woman — a 
woman who wants to be free. 

Ramsey. [Coldly] Have you any idea of how 
much damage a woman like you can do, how many 
contented hearthsides you can ruin? You sow 
seeds of dissension and unhappiness. Men will 
hate you for it. 

Margaret. It doesn't matter — Louise sings. 
Ramsey. Never. Give me that paper. Then 
I shall use force. 

He tries to get it — she deftly eludes him — 
thrusting it in her dress. 
Margaret. [Throwing him off] No! 

Ramsey looks furious enough to subdue her 
and drag it forth. His anger as he gazes 
at her slowly and subtly changes to ad- 
miration. 
Ramsey. [Close to her — under his breath] 
God — Margaret — I don't know whether I hate 
you or love you. You are like one of those 
Teuton warrior women — forest and all. [Dash- 
ing his hand across his face] Memories come 
crowding back — days when we thought we were 
meant for one another. The touch of you has 
j&red my blood [moves as if to seize her.] 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 75 

Margaret. William! [Locks contract in table 
drawer] Not without Louise's consent. 

Ramsey. [Recovering himself — goes to door] 
Very well. [Turns and comes back] You interfere 
with my life. I shall interfere with yours. 

Margaret. How? 

Ramsey. You intend to marry Hartwell. I 
shall delay — prevent the marriage. 

Margaret. You! 

Ramsey. Yes, I! I know how. So go on 
with your poverty-stricken ideas of happiness — 
a childless woman — old age to face — alone! 
Margaret and her flower shop. Ha ha! 

[Goes to door.] 

Margaret. [Following] What are you going 
to do? 

Ramsey. You will see. 

Margaret. William, don't leave this room 
until you have told me what you are going to do. 

Ramsey. Very well, I will. [Comes down] 
Stephen Hartwell has political honors to win. 
He has bitter enemies — men who attack him 
for his sympathy with the poor and criminal 
classes. I can stand for all that and fight his 
battles honestly, but I refuse to allow anything 
further of an extreme or eccentric nature to enter 
the campaign. 

Margaret. What do you mean? 



76 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

Ramsey. If he marries you that is what will 
happen. You with your flower shop 

Margaret . Well ? 

Ramsey. That is not the worst — you have 
ideas — radical ideas of woman, marriage, free- 
dom, which you propound publicly — ideas which 
are utterly distasteful to me and to most men. 
If Hartwell marries you he will have to stand 
sponsor for these ideas — he with his position 
and fortune — at the very threshold of his life's 
opportunity — a judgeship ! Why, to the serious 
criticism we have had would be added ridicule — 
laughter! There would be no chance for him. 
The press would be full of it. 

Margaret. You said you had the press in 
your hands. You could take care of that. 

Ramsey. Ah, but that is just what I cannot 
and will not do. What! Protect the woman 
who breaks up my home — sends my wife on the 
stage .f* You must have taken leave of your 
senses, Margaret. 

Margaret. [Gazes at him in astonishment] 
Tell me the worst that could happen — if he 
should marry me. 

Ramsey. If the woman question is dragged 
in, and it will be, Hartwell may stand for it — 
I can't. It will be impossible for us to work 
together. I shall withdraw my support. 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 77 

Margaret. That means another candidate? 
Ramsey. It does. It means failure for him — 
the end of his career. He won't have another 
such chance in a hurry. Now then, give up that 
contract — be silent with Louise — undo your 
work with her — or I shall tell Hartwell how the 
matter stands. I will give you an hour to decide. 
[Margaret is fairly paralyzed] I always thought 
you selfish, Margaret, — but I fancy you will 
scarcely go so far as to ruin the career of the 
man you love. 

Margaret. William — you couldn't — you 

wouldn't do this 

Ramsey. I mean what I say. I can handle 
all criticism but this. I refuse to stand for the 
flower shop. [Goes out.] 

The door thrown open as Ramsey passes 
out shows a group of women gathered for 
a meeting. Their voices, laughing and 
chatting, rise and fall, gaining steadily in 
volume as their number increases through- 
out the following scene. Polly guards 
the door. She closes it quickly at a swift 
sign from Margaret, who after a 
moment goes to the conservatory door and 
opens it. 
Margaret. Stephen ! 

[Enter Hartwell.] 



78 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

Hart WELL. He has gone? [Starting] Mar- 
garet, what is the matter? You are pale. What 
has Ramsey said? What has he done? Tell me. 

Margaret. Oh, Stephen, what shall we do? 
I can't marry you now, even if you should let me 
keep the flower shop 

Hart WELL. What? 

Margaret. I can't ruin your career — no — 
no — I can't do that. 

Hart^y^ll. What do you mean? What has 
Ramsey told you? 

Margaret. He is so angry with me about his 
wife. If you marry me he will withdraw his 
support 

Hartwell. Nonsense! 

Margaret. He will do as he says. I see it all. 

Hartwell. I don't care what Ramsey says. 

Margaret. But I care. It may mean the 
sacrifice of your life's work. 

Hartwell. And you can't give up the flower 
shop — be just a wife. I see that. 

Margaret. [Struggling with herself, locking 
and unlocking her hands] Oh, Stephen, how can I? 
Not my work, my ideals, those women out there 
and all I have done for them — oh, how can I ! 
Ask anything but that. [With large impulsive- 
ness] Take me, dear — my life, myself, my heart — 
all that I am — even — [hesitates.] 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 79 

Hartwell, [Comprehending, folding her in 
his arms] You brave, precious woman! 

Margaret. It is the only way now — love's 
way — if not the world's — but let it be so. I 
am yours — absolutely — do with me as you will. 

Hartwell. [Tenderly] But I love you too. 
Much as I might want you, I shall never do you 
any harm. 

Margaret. You could not. Your love is an 
infinite blessing. You have placed a crown on 
my head that will always be there — do you not 
see it — a mystic, light-shedding crown? 

Hartwell. [Kissing her] It is the light of your 
own loveliness. 

Margaret. [Closing her eyes] And on my lips, 
invisible jewels. [With an apprehensive change] 
Oh, I cannot lose you now — now that you have 
come. No, no, I love you — I love you. [Cling- 
ing to him] I need you. You are life itself — all 
its joy — and I have been so wretchedly lonely — 
I cannot give you up — I cannot. Take me. 
Anything, dear — have it any way you will. 

Hartwell. To cast a shadow on your life 
in the eyes of society — no, dear — never that. 

Margaret. I am not in society. I am a 
working woman. 

Hartwell. But I want you in society — my 
society. I am proud of you, Margaret — you 



80 THE FLOWER SHOP act ii 

are a queen among women — I want the world to 
know you mine. I want you at my side. I 
should have next to nothing of you that other 
way. Think, dear. I want a wife in my house, 
to go about with me — to receive my friends — to 
share my life — all of it — the days and the 
nights — I want you, Margaret 

Margaret. [In despair] How is it possible? 

Hartwell. We must find a way. See, dear, 
I am going now — I shall do my best to clear 
away every obstacle — my own prejudices — 
Ramsey's objections. If I succeed I shall be 
here at eight o'clock. If I do not, I had best 
go on my journey, — I will not come back — not 
to-night. 

Margaret. [Clinging to him] No, no. 

Hartwell. Until I can understand — until 
every barrier in the way of our marriage is re- 
moved. It is better so. We should only agonize 
each other. Let me hear once more you love me. 

Margaret. I do, I do. 

The noise of the women's talk outside becomes 
more insistent. 

Hartwell. [With sudden ardor] Oh, Mar- 
garet — can't you feel it — love is the supreme 
good of life — there is nothing beside it — and 
we have both been so starved. I must have you. 
You will not let me go away? If I am not here 



ACT II THE FLOWER SHOP 81 

at eight and can't find a way for us, you will 
change your mind — give up the work — write 
to me — send for me — I must have you. 

The doors suddenly fall slightly ajar and the 
gay, eager voices of the women seem to 
leap into the room. 
Margaret. [Starting] They are coming! 
Hartwell. [Still holding her, screened by the 
plants from the entrance] Good-bye for a little while 
— [kissing her] only a little while. [At the door] 
If I do not come I shall wait for your word. 

[Goes out] 
Margaret. [Dazedly] Eight o'clock — eight — 
The Women. Now we may come in! Oh, 

Margaret 

Margaret pulls herself together with a 
tremendous effort and turns to greet the 
women as they rush upon her and sur- 
round her, exclaiming, ''Margaret, you 
dear,'' — 'Tve a piece of good news " — 
'Tve sold all my work.'* — 'Tve a ques- 
tion to ask you." — *' My husband says 
what if" — ''My husband says so too." 
While Margaret stands in the midst, 
tall, white, swaying, a faint struggling 
smile of welcome on her lips. 

Curtain 



ACT III 

Same scene: evening of the same day. The room 
glows softly with dim lights. The doors at 
the back are open — an illumined street clock 
may he seen through the shop window. The 
hands are at 7.40. 
Present: Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey, who have evi- 
dently just come in, and Dave. 
Ramsey. [Looking at his watch] You say she 
will not be back until eight o'clock? 

Dave. I don't think so, sir. She may be 
early. All I know is she told me to wait until 
eight. She expects some one then. 

Ramsey. Hm. Provoking! Well — we will 
wait, I think, if you don't mind. 
Dave. [Goes out] Yes, sir. 
Louise. [Timidly] I should so much rather 
see Margaret alone. 

Ramsey. [Tries the drawer of desk] Locked, of 
course — and taken the key with her. [Sits 
down and pretends to^read a paper. 

Louise. William, sweetheart! [Approaches 
him affectionately yet fearfully — withdraws, chilled 
by the aspect of his unresponsive, determined face — 
once more"^ timidly tries to pet him] William, aren't 
you going to speak to me.^ You haven't spoken 
82 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 83 

to me for over an hour. [Silence] I haven't, done 
anything wrong — [Silence] I just want to sing — 
[Silence] Don't you love me, WilHam? You have 
always been so good to me. I love you. 

Ramsey. Love! 

Louise. But I do love you 

Ramsey. Prove it — then. 

Louise. [In a wheedling voice] Why, dearie, I 
can't help it if I want to sing, can I.'* If you only 
knew the joy of it — can't you imagine it, dear? 
You like to smoke and play golf — [breaking off] 
you can't stop a bird from singing 

Ramsey. No one will stop you in the proper 
place — the four walls of your own home. 

Louise. But the opera — the audience — is 
like sunshine — just what the air and the sun are 
to the bird. Ah, dearie, please let me.'* Say 
yes — you will? I know you will. 

Ramsey. [Bringing down an emphatic hand] 
Louise, there is no use discussing the matter any 
further — I shall not allow it. [Pause] I'll 
do anything for you, — buy you anything you 
want, only you must get this idea out of your 
mind at once. [Walks up and down] Why, you 
are positively crazy, Louise! [Pause.] [Explo- 
sively] I do not wish you to do it — that is enough; 
or ought to be enough for any wife who loves her 
husband. If you insist upon deliberately choosing 



84 THE FLOWER SHOP act m 

to make me unhappy — I have aheady told you 
what the end is Hkely to be. 

Louise. That all is over between us.^^ No, 
not that! 

Ramsey. It is the logical result. 

Louise. But William — you'd be so proud 
of me! 

Ramsey. Proud! Fat, stupid tenors singing 
love songs in your face, putting their arms about 
you! [Strides across the room] My wife! Tights, 
perhaps! Proud! Good God! It makes me 
sick! 

Louise. [Tentatively, and looking contempla- 
tively at the toe of her boot, as a child teasing for a 
treat might do, and unable to accept the inevitable] 
Well, I have promised Ten Eyck — and Margaret. 

Ramsey. [Sitting down] You will have to 
settle with Margaret — I have already notified 
Ten Eyck. 

Louise. [Starting] William ! You have 

Ramsey. Notified Ten Eyck. 

Louise. What? 

Ramsey. That he might consider the matter 
cancelled. 

Louise. [Angrily] You — you — how dared 
you do that ! How dared you ! It is my affair — 
Love me ! You don't love me a bit. 

[Oil the verge of tears, she starts for the door.] 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 85 

Ramsey. [Rising quickly and taking her in his 
arms] I do love you — you know it. I love you 
so much I don't want to give up one bit of you 
to the world — I want to keep you mine — all 
mine. Surely this means something to you.'^ 
[Holding her more closely and kissing her warmly] 
You don't want to give up this.^^ 

Louise whips out her handkerchief, her 
taut nerves give way at this demonstration 
of affection, and bursting into tears, she 
starts again for the door. 

Ramsey. Where are you going? 

Louise. To my room — I am not going to 
stay here and let Margaret see me cry. 

Ramsey. [Detaining her] You will come back — 
promise me — and tear up that contract? [Point- 
ing to the locked table drawer.] 

Louise. [Wildly] Oh — I don't know what 
I'll do 

Ramsey. [Releasing her hand and speaking 
with tenderness] If you love me — you will. 

[Louise goes out.] 

Ramsey. The devil! Shall I never get this 
thing settled! [To Dave in the conservatory] 
There is no use in my waiting here. Tell Miss 
Kendall that Mr. Ramsey will be in later. Mrs. 
Ramsey may return — she may not — I don't 
know. You can never tell what a woman is 



86 THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

going to do. Gad — and that's a fact, young 
fellow ! 

[Ramsey goes.] 

Dave. [Whistles] Whew! What's up! 

[Goes to move some plants about, whistling 

happily to himself.] 
Enter at side door Margaret in an evening 
wrap. 

Margaret. Good evening, Dave. Has any 
one been here.'^ 

Dave. The gentleman you were expecting.'^ 
No — m'm — it isn't eight o'clock yet — you 
said eight. 

Margaret. I know it, but I thought perhaps 
he might be early — [glances at the street clock] 
In less than half an hour ! 

Dave. A lady and gentleman were here — 
the name was — [hesitates.] 

Margaret. Ramsey.'^ 

Dave. Yes, that's it — they're coming again — 
he is, anyway — they seem to be having trouble — 

Margaret. I shouldn't wonder — [to herself] 
Poor Louise. [She moves about the room expect- 
antly, nervously, looking out at the clock; gathers up 
an armful of lilies as if to arrange them, drops them 
on the table, murmurs to herself] If he shouldn't 
come — [makes a distracted gesture, and then notices 
Dave] You needn't wait any longer, Dave. 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 87 

Dave. [Self-consciously] I was to meet Polly 
here. We're going to the dance across the street. 

Margaret. [With an attempt at cheeriness] 
Oh, I thought you looked dressed up. Here is a 
white rose for your buttonhole. [Puts it in for 
him] You're a good boy, Dave. [Returns to 
flowers] Will you help me pack the wedding bell, 
Dave? I want to get it out of the way. 

[Attempts to pack it in box.] 

Dave. Let me do that. Your hands are trembling. 

Margaret. So they are. I will leave it to 
you. I am a little nervous. 

[Margaret goes into front room.] 

Dave. [Sympathetically] I don't blame you. 

[He looks at the wedding bell with a smiling 

affection.] Enter Lena. 

Dave. Hello, Lena! 

Lena. Hello ! You look as if it were your own. 

Dave. [Smiling to himself] It is. [Starts] 
I mean almost. I — we are going to have one 
of our own. 

Lena. You and Polly.? 

Dave [nods.] 

Lena. That's no news. But you needn't feel 
so smart. You are not the only ones. 

Dave. Are you going to get married, Lena? 

[Looks at her]. 

Lena. I may. 



88 THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

Dave. You don't say! 

Lena. I don't know why that should astonish 
you so much — you think no one wants me 
because I am all worked out, you fancy Polly is 
the only kind of girl a man wants to marry be- 
cause she is young and pretty. There are others ! 

Dave. [Staring in wonder at her outburst] 
I never said nothing. What are you mad at me for ? 

Lena. Do you suppose I don't know what you 
are thinking? I tried to do as Miss Margaret's 
doing, and now look at me, — all my looks gone, 
and I wasn't so bad looking once. I had so 
much color that every one used to turn and look 
at me. You won't believe it, but I had redder 
cheeks than Polly. I was the envy of all the girls. 

Dave. You are not bad looking now, Lena. 

Lena. A mirror doesn't lie, does it? Well, 
I have made up my mind now what I shall do. 

Dave. What will Miss Margaret say? 

Lena. I don't care what she says. 

Dave. So you are really going to try it, Lena? 
Re-enter Margaret. Exit Dave to con- 
servatory. 

Margaret. Try what, Lena? Good evening. 

Lena. [Embarrassed] I — I may get married. 

Margaret. Why, Lena, I didn't know you 
cared for any one. 

Lena. I don't, specially. 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 89 

Margaret. Then, why? 

Lena. [Impatiently] I know what you will 
say, — but a woman like me has got to think of 
herself. I am getting old. I don't like to look 
ahead and see myself an old woman with nobody 
to care whether I live or die. It is this way. 
Miss Margaret, if I am ever to have a home I 
must plan for it now. This is a good chance. 
I may never have another, — and I, — I want a 
change — I have had nothing for years but work — 
week in and week out. 

Margaret. And now you want some man 
to do this for you.-^ 

Lena. Why shouldn't he.'^ It is a man's 
place. Why shouldn't it be — if he wants to? 

Margaret. [Very gently placing her hand on 
Lena's] AMio is the man, dear? 

Lena. [Softening] He is a good man. Edward 
Knox. He hasn't a single bad habit. 

Margaret. I know, the carpenter. 

Lena. He has asked me several times, but I 
thought about you and what you have been 
teaching us, so I always refused him. What 
you do is all right for you, Miss Margaret, you 
are different from the rest of us, but I — well, 
you see [wipes a tear from her eye], it seems like 
such a good chance. He has a steady job. He 
says he will be good to me. 



90 THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

Margaret. Lena, Lena — and you don't 
love him! 

Lena. No, but it is a perfectly respectable 
offer. Miss Margaret. I'm afraid I am one of the 
weak ones you talk about. I want a home — 
[drops her head on the table with a little sob] and I 
am so tired. Miss Margaret — so tired. 

Margaret. [Very gently] Other people get 
tired, too, Lena. Even married women get tired, 
fearfully tired. Have you thought what a home 
would be without love, Lena? 

Lena. I don't ask for that — a rest, a change, 
is all I want. [Desperately] If I can only forget 
the thump, thump of the typewriter. 

Margaret. Hasn't it been a rest to be here 
with me this year? 

Lena. Yes, but I need more than that. The 
typewriter is on my brain, on my nerves. It 
seems to me I'll do anything to quit work and have 
a husband — some one who will look out for me. 

Margaret. [Gently] Poor girl! But, Lena, 
let me ask you one thing. If you feel that way, 
how can you be so unkind to Mary? Why can 
you not understand a little of what she has been 
through? 

Lena. [Astonished] Mary ! 

Margaret. Yes. Why is it you feel yourself 
so much better than Mary? She is sweet and 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 91 

gentle — she has a heart of gold and you can 
see from her face that she has suffered — yet you 
have never spoken one kind word to her — usually 
you ignore her in the most pointed way. You 
have hurt her cruelly. 

Lena. If you knew how I despise that kind 
of a girl! What else can she expect.'^ 

Margaret. You said just now that you were 
tired. Remember that Mary was more than 
tired — she was hungry — think of it — starving 
when she did — what you are going to do. 

Lena. Miss Margaret, you surely do not 
compare me with a girl who has been as low as 
Mary! 

Margaret. [Rising and speaking in tones of 
gentle pleading] Marry Edward Knox, Lena. Be 
as happy as you can. I do not stand in your 
way. All I ask is a little charity for Mary. I 
want you to see that you are about to do what 
she did. You are horror stricken at the idea, but 
it is true, nevertheless. You will give yourself 
for the necessities of life with no love in your 
heart, — only you have the advantage of Mary. 
You make a better bargain — a bargain for life. 
But she had one advantage over you — she was 
free 

Lena. [Starting to go, and very much hurt] 
Then I'll be like Mary, only I'll be respectable! 



92 THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

Margaret. [Putting her arms about her] Don't 
go like that, Lena. I don't blame you. I under- 
stand. My heart aches for you, for Mary, for 
all women. 

Lena. [Breaking down] I think the world is 
pretty hard on us women, whichever way we 
turn. Someway, it is easier for a man to face it 
than a woman — [Starts to go, hesitates, then comes 
back, and speaks in a low voice] There is another 
reason. Miss Margaret — I don't want you to 
think me all bad — but I want — [hesitates and 
looks at Margaret] it isn't only a home and a 
husband, but I want something to love. I want 
a little child of my own — all my own. 

[A real beauty comes into the girVs face.] 

Margaret. [Kissing her — astonished — 
touched — a light of comprehension breaking over 
her face] Lena! 

Lena. [Softening completely] You see, children 
have always run from me, Miss Margaret. They 
never would come, no matter how I coaxed and 
tried to win them. It always hurt me. I suppose 
it is because I am so thin and peaked looking. 
Children love a girl like Polly. I thought if I 
had one of my own — it would have to come to 
me — [passionately] I would work and slave for 
it — oh, I should make it love me. A baby never 
sees the Hues and wrinkles in its mother's face. 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 93 

Margaret, [Taking her hands] Thank you for 
telling me this. I will come to your wedding, 
Lena. 

Lena. [Joyfully] Oh, will you ! I did not dare 
to ask. 

Margaret. [Deeply touched] Yes. I will come, 
now. 

Lena. [Going, speaks earnestly] Thank you. 
[Wistfully] I wish I were strong, like you. 

Margaret. [Sighing] I am not so strong, 
Lena. Good-bye. I am so glad you came in, 
dear. 

[Exit Lena.] 

Margaret. [Walks slowly and in deep thought 
to the center of the stage, then stops and says softly] 
All of us — in the grip of the mighty forces of 
nature. [She looks at the time and moves about 
restlessly] Almost eight — [The hands of the clock 
are seen to creep sloivly and steadily to eight and 
past it] If he shouldn't come! if he shouldn't 
[She hears some one and starts eagerly, but stops 
in disappointment as she sees who it is] Oh ! 

Enter Polly at the side door in party dress, 
looking very roguish and pretty. 

Polly. [Gaily] Hello! Is anybody here? 

Margaret. You mean Dave? Yes, he is in 
there. [Nodding in the direction of the conservatory 
door.] 



94 THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

Polly. [Shyly, coquettishly] Has he told you — 
did he say anything? 

Margaret. No, but I can readily guess. 
Enter Dave. 

Dave. It is all ready, Miss Margaret. Hello, 
Polly! How long have you been here? [Softly] 
Did you tell her? 

Polly. No, she guessed it. 

[As if she were disappointed at losing the 
opportunity of telling her.] 

Dave. She did! 

Margaret. [Smiling at them] That wasn't 
hard. 

Dave. Well, will you make the wedding bell 
for Polly and me? 

Polly. [Nodding energetically] One like Miss 
Cornelia's — as big as hers. You really won't 
dislike wedding bells as much as you pretend, 
Miss Margaret — not when you see how happy we 
are! [Squeezes Dave's arm] It is to be a real old- 
fashioned marriage. Miss Margaret. [A little 
defiantly] I am going to give all my time to keeping 
house for Dave [Dave smiles in perfect content] 
and not work for my living any more. 

Dave. [Bravely] W^hat's mine's hers, I say. 
I'd be a low sort to let a girl like Polly go on 
working. She'll never want, not while I've got 
a pair of hands. 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 95 

Polly. I won't mind asking Dave for money. 
Oh, we are dreadfully happy, Miss Margaret. 
Come along, Dave, or we'll be late for the dance. I 
hear them tuning up now. [Dances about] Miss Mar- 
garet, you'd better come too. Join in the dance. 

Margaret. [Shaking her head] My feet are 
grown hea\^. 

Polly. You aren't working to-night, are you.'^ 
[Impulsively] We might help you. 

Margaret. No, I am expecting some one. 

Polly. Oh.'^ Perhaps you are going to be 
happy too. There, / thought you were a woman 
like the rest of us. Some of the girls said you 
hadn't a heart, but I knew better. Oh, it is so 
good to be in love, Miss Margaret — [ she 
gives Margaret an impulsive hug] and to find a 
man like Dave. 

Margaret. [Petting her and pinning some 
roses on her] You shall have your wedding bell! 
We all need joy. 

Some one is heard at the front door. Mar- 
garet starts again in anxious concern. 

Dave. [Smiling at her] It isn't your man. It's 
only Mary. Good night. [Enter Mary.] 

[Exuent Dave and Polly arm in arm.] 

Margaret. [Watching them] Happy, happy 
children. What is it, Mary.'^ Why aren't you 
at the dance .^^ 



96 THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

Mary. There is no place for me there. I had 
no one to go with — oh, I don't mind. I saw a 
light here. I thought maybe I could do something 
for you. I fancied you were lonely. 

Margaret. [After a restless look at the door, 
sits at table, abstractedly fingering the lilies] Yes, 
I am afraid I am. [Looks at time] Eight o'clock! 
[Looks around blankly] He's not coming. 

Mary. [Impulsively kneeling by her] Oh, Miss 
Margaret, don't be so lonely, always. He is a 
beautiful gentleman. You must not make a 
mistake now. Don't send him away. 

Margaret rises nervously and moves away. 

Mary. Forgive me, but I want to see you 
happy. Life is so hard alone — especially for a 
woman. 

Margaret. He was to be here by eight if — 
if — [Sits on stone bench] Oh, Mary, I fear I was 
not noble or great. There are words a man said 
that ring in my ears — "Terms — a bargain." 
I made terms — conditions. Perhaps I might 
have found a better way. 

Mary. The flower shop — was that it.^^ 

Margaret. [With hopeless despair] He said 
he would not come back unless he saw his way 
clear. It is after eight and he hasn't come. He 
has given up. I may not see him again — oh, 
what shall I do? 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 97 

[She lays her head on the arm of the great 
stone bench with a little sob.] 

Mary. [Standing behind the bench and bending 
over her] Don't cry, Miss Margaret. It can't be 
too late. There is no eastern train out for an 
hour at least. Can you not send for him? 

Margaret. [Rising restlessly] Yes — but 

Mary. Why not.^ I will take the word to 
him. Let me. Why not? 

Margaret. [Pacing the room] My pride. How 
can I do what I have been telling all these women 
not to do? Think of all that I have taught them, 
all that they look to me for, and how happy they are 
— and then for me to fail them — oh, how can I? 

[Sits down.] 

Mary. [Kneeling by her] Every one of them 
would understand. It is sweet to surrender. 

Margaret. They have at least had love in 
their lives — and I — I have had to do with- 
out — [Leaning back in the stone bench, she closes 
her eyes, — dance music is heard — the seductive 
strains of a Strauss waltz] You may be right. 
All is different in the quiet of evening, one sees 
with other eyes. Look at Polly and Dave — no 
troublesome ideals — no philosophy — only joy, 
abandon, romance. I confess it, [sighs heavily] 
I envy them to-night. [The music is heard more 
clearly, and she half listens] I feel weak, Mary. 



98 THE FLOWER SHOP act m 

Something in me is giving way. I may send for 
him. It is these flowers — these hhes. Take 
them away. [Passionately] Oh, take them away. 
The odor steals over my senses, berefts me of 
reason, benumbs my judgment. [Mary starts 
to remove them] No, no. Leave them. I love 
them. I love them. [Gathers them to her, buries 
her face in them and then lets them fall to the table. 
She listens, unconsciously pulsing with the music — 
then rousing herself] It is that dance music ! It is 
creeping into my blood, sapping my will. I shall 
send for him. I shall, I shall — oh, I am losing 
my senses. I can't think and I must think! 
Shut the door, Mary ! Shut out that music — 
[Mary closes door, but music is still heard, though it 
is not so penetrating] Oh, it is no use. I can hear 
it still. It has utterly undone me. Is this 
what it is to be merely a woman — no will — no 
head — all heart — nothing but heart, with a cry 
in it that will not be stilled. I want him — / 
want him. Is this the mighty love cry of the ages 
that has kept us in the dark and made the dun- 
geon sweet so long? Ah, my sisters, I have 
understood your needs — now I know your 
temptation. The one face. I must see it 
again — the one voice — [Passionately] Oh, Mary, 
can't you shut out that music? 

Mary. Miss Margaret — one woman can do 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 99 

so little — must we not wait for all society to 
change — for men to be free themselves? I used 
to hear them talking in the mill — some day the 
struggle will not be so fierce, they said — every- 
thing will be better — for women, too. Why 
should you sacrifice yourself now? It is foolish, 
when you could be happy. He looks so good 
and kind 

Margaret. [As the music without rises in a 
poignant crescendo of joy and abandon] If God 
would still my heart — I could go on teaching — 
but now, to be alive like this and give it up — he 
was right, that man — what was it he said — in 
the grip — mighty forces. [Puts her hands to her 
face] No, I cannot give him up! I cannot. 
It is too much to ask. I will send for him. Quick, 
Mary, a pen. [Mary brings writing material.] 
No conditions. That is the way to love — 
[Writes] "Come back. Have it your way. Only 
come" — there! Some one is knocking. Perhaps 
it is he! 

[She rises eagerly, still holding the letter in 

her hand.] 
Mary opens the door. Enter Louise 
Ramsey. Mary discreetly withdraws. 

Louise. Oh, Margaret! 

Margaret. [Seeing Louise's abandon to dis- 
tress] What is it? 



100 THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

Louise. It is all over. [Drops in a chair.] 

Margaret. [Shocked and looking at her] You 
don't mean — 

Louise. William! He won't allow it. I can't 
sing to-morrow — nor ever again. 

Margaret. It is as I said. 

Louise. Yes. My voice had better have 
remained silent. It is torture to know that I 
have it and cannot use it. Oh, Margaret, how 
right you were. It was awful — the scene I had 
with him; and his face, it was perfectly frozen. 

Margaret. You were warned of that. I 
prepared you. 

Louise. But I never dreamed he could be so 
cruel. The mailed hand, you said. I felt it — 
oh, I felt it — and for the first time since our 
marriage. I am heartbroken. 

Margaret. I knew you had no idea of the 
ordeal ahead of you. That was why I suggested 
my keeping the contract. You can't break it. 

Louise. We must destroy it. He has notified 
Ten Eyck. 

Margaret. But you, Louise? You went out 
of here a radiant woman, bent on triumph — 
your life's opportunity in your grasp. Where 
is your pride — your spirit? 

Louise. [Bowing low] Crushed — in the dust. 

Margaret. And your voice — is it to be 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 101 

stilled forever — by that man! [Vehemently] You 
can't give up like this. 

Louise. [Groaning] My voice ! Oh — don't 
speak of it! 

Margaret. You haven't much fight, Louise. 

Louise. [Cries] Nor would you have if you 
loved him. 

Margaret starts at the truth of this, looks 
at her letter and turns away. 

Louise. I don't know why WilHam can't 
see and understand and really sympathize with 
me a little — but if he can't — what am I to do? 
I am helpless — I love him, Margaret. You 
can't fight the man you love, even if he is cruel 
or if he fails to see; you know that, don't you.f^ 
You have no weapons, you are powerless. Don't 
you understand, Margaret .^^ Or have you never 
cared for any one? 

Margaret. [Breathes hard and looks at her 
letter] What did he say to you? 

Louise. [Hurt, reserved] I don't care to repeat 
all he said. I don't know that it was in the 
words only — although they were short and stern 
enough. He simply said he forbade it, it reflected 
on his honor 

Margaret. Honor! 

Louise. I know there's no reason in it, but 
that wasn't the thing that influenced me. It 



102 THE FLOWER SHOP act iii 

was the coldness, — the withdrawal of his love — 
the silence — why he wouldn't speak to me for 
more than an hour! Oh, I couldn't face that 
month after month. Better the silence of my 
voice than that silence. I'm as limp as a rag 
now. A year of it would kill me. I know it's 
all wrong — but what can I do — a woman's 
heart is something, Margaret. 

Margaret. [As if answering herself] Yes, 
your woman's heart! 

Louise. After all, Margaret — is it worth it.^^ 
to persist in singing, and as a consequence lose 
my husband's love.?^ He made it clear that that 
would be the price. To forfeit all the tenderness, 
the sweetness, the protection — and he gives me 
that most generously — I never fully appreciated 
it until it was withdrawn this afternoon — for 
the sake of glory and fame — is it worth it, 
Margaret, — when you come right down to it? 
The clasp of a strong man's arms, when he loves 
you — isn't it the most precious thing in a woman's 
life, Margaret — better than art and all the plau- 
dits of the world.? Tell me, Margaret. 

Margaret. Don't ask me. 

[She turns her back and reaches for Louise's 
hand.] 

Louise. It is sweet to belong to some one. 
If you loved, Margaret, you would know. 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 103 

[Margaret tortured, moves to the window.] 

Louise. You seem agitated. 

Margaret. I am, fearfully. [Up stage she turns 
about] Well! [Quietly and slowly tears up her 
letter to Hartwell] We are a weak lot — we 
women — when we love 

Louise. What is that.'^ 

Margaret. [Tossing the pieces from her] 
My happiness. There it goes 

Louise. [Beginning to forget her own grief at 
sight of Margaret's] Why, Margaret ! 

Margaret. Your lack of strength teaches me 
my own. Some one must renounce the sweet- 
ness. The new truth must force its way to the 
light — what if a few of us die in the travail ! 
Come, I say to my sisters, let us go forward — 
but one and all they cry out and fall to the ground, 
their hands clutching their hearts. Some one 
must stand up and be strong. So I will try to be 
[her voice breaks and she sinks on the bench, her 
head on its arm] the strong one. Oh, there is that 
music again! Mary, can't you shut it out.? 

Louise. [Kneels by her] Tell me about it, 
Margaret, — what is your trouble? I cannot 
have caused it all. 

Margaret. I wanted women to be free. 

Louise. Perhaps we don't want to be free, 
Margaret. 



104 THE FLOWER SHOP act iii 

Margaret. It looks that way. 

Louise. But if men love us as we are — and 
you know we have many faults, why not try to be 
grateful and contented and forget our — our 
voices? Perhaps we are too selfish. Isn't love 
the main thing.? 

Margaret. [Goes on, not heeding what Louise 
has said] Now, God must still my heart. Then 
I can go on. 

Louise. [A light dawning] Margaret, what has 
happened ? To whom was that letter addressed, — 
the one you tore up.^^ Was it to — Stephen 
Hart well .f^ 

Margaret. [Wearily] What does it matter now.^^ 

Louise. It reminds me. I heard William 
talking with him this afternoon. 

Margaret. [Suddenly eager] Yes.^^ What did 
he say.? Tell me — every word. 

Louise. I didn't hear it all. He thought I 
had gone — he told me to come to you at once — 
but I was so upset and my eyes were so red I 
didn't dare appear on the street. I was in my 
room. 

Margaret. Tell me what he said — at once. 
I must know. 

Louise. I caught only a few words — a judge 
with a wife in business — public laughter — 
career ruined — eccentric ideas — scandal 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 105 

Margaret. [Smothers a cry] Oh! 
Louise. Tell me — did he mean you, Mar- 
garet? 

Margaret. Yes, yes — tell me what else 



Louise. If it had occurred to me that he was 
talking of you, Margaret, I would have listened 
with all my ears, but I knew William was furious 
with me, and I thought he was just finishing up 
on poor Stephen Hartwell. If I hadn't been so 
absorbed in my own troubles ! 

Margaret. But you must have heard some- 
thing else — try and remember. 

Louise. "A man may be selfish — but not a 
woman" — I heard William say that; and *'If 
we men give in once, the bars will be down — 
there'll be no stopping the women. They will be 
like a lot of hens let into a garden — run and 
scratch everywhere — spoil everything. Now is 
the time to take a firm stand." 

Margaret. But Stephen Hartwell — what 
did he say? 

Louise. His voice was so low — I heard only 
one thing. 

Margaret. What was that? 

Louise. '*She will send for me" 

Margaret. [Grasps Louise by the arm] You 
are sure — he said that? 

Louise. Yes. 



106 THE FLOWER SHOP act iii 

Margaret groans and sinks back on the 
bench. 
Louise. And William said — "No, she won't 

— such women can't love — that's the sign of it; 
they never surrender — they are too selfish." 

Margaret. [Murmurs] Worse and worse. 

Louise. You see that's William's idea, Mar- 
garet. Tell me, what can I do.f^ You love 
Stephen Hartwell? 

Margaret. [With anguished feeling] Oh, yes, 
yes ! Can't you see it.^ 

Louise. Well! what right had William to 
talk to Stephen Hartwell like that! Hasn't he 
made me miserable enough.? 

Margaret. He was angry with me. 

Louise. Why? 

Margaret. Because I wanted you to sing. 

Louise. I'll go to Hartwell myself. 

Margaret. No, no. You can do nothing. 
[She goes mechanically to the window. Her voice is 
plaintive, far away] It is all perfectly hopeless now 

— don't you see — perfectly hopeless. 

There is a noise of some one entering. Both start. 
Margaret. There — who is that? 

Enter Ten Eyck in great concern. 
Ten Eyck. [Vehemently] Ah! Here you are, 
you bad girl! How dare you! How dare you 
treat me like this 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 107 

Louise. Don't say a word! Don't make me 
feel worse than I do. 

Ten Eyck. I shall not let you off. I shall not, 
I tell you 

Louise. I can't do anything else. 

Ten Eyck. Yes, yes, you can! Oh, these 
husbands! They will drive me crazy, crazee! 
Why did you ever marry.? Don't you be such a 
fool, Margaret. You will be right under his 
thumb — you are perfectly right, Margaret. 
Stick to your flower shop. Now, if Louise here 
were only like you! Such a voice! Heavens! 
I tell you I will hold you to your contract! 
Where is it, Margaret? 

Margaret takes it from table drawer, and 
gives it to him and then quietly disappears 
through conservatory door. 

Ten Eyck. There, husband or no husband, 
you shall sing — do you hear? I saw through his 
excuses — he's like a sulky boy for all the 
world. 

Louise. You can't live with sulks! I beg 
you to drop the subject. I can do nothing, I tell 
you. Can't you understand my position? 

Ten Eyck. I understand well enough. You 
are like all the wives — as like as peas in a pod — 
perfectly satisfied to give up an art that might 
make you famous and bring in thousands of 



108 THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

dollars — what for? To tickle his sense of au- 
thority, his vanity, his pride. 

Louise. You don't understand. I love my 
husband. [Angry at him] I must do as he wishes. 
I cannot forfeit his love. 

Ten Eyck. You wouldn't if it was worth 
anything. Oh, they are all alike, too! This 
isn't my first experience, unfortunately. But, 
great Scott, what am I to do for to-morrow .^^ 

Margaret. [Enters hastily] There, I hear a 
carriage. [Goes to doors at the back and opening 
therriy calls] Some one is at the front door, Mary. 
Open it, quick! 

Enter Ramsey. 

Ramsey. [Powerfully, quickly] Ah, Louise, 1 
have come for you. It is almost train time — 
[He and Margaret face each other almost fiercely 
for a moment] Well? Good evening, Mr. Ten 
Eyck. [They are all very still. He looks about 
him sharply] What's going on here? 

Ten Eyck. Train time ! You don't mean 

Ramsey. I don't think we need repeat my 
message of this afternoon, Mr. Ten Eyck. My 
decision was final. 

Ten Eyck. But your wife — the contract — 
she has something to say 

Ramsey. [Amicably] Has she? Now? I think 
not — we have already agreed on the matter. 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 109 

Ten Eyck. [In conciliatory terms, resorting to 
flattery] Don't decide too hastily, Mr. Ramsey. 
Of course you know there are others I might get 
to sing — plenty of others — who would jump 
at the chance — but your wife is the star of them 
all — her voice — really, sir — her voice is singu- 
larly beautiful — so fresh — so pure — so like 
the lark — yes, I mean it, sir — it is a fortune 

Ramsey. I know — no one appreciates it 
more than I. She shall have plenty of oppor- 
tunities to be heard, but not professionally. 

Ten Eyck. [ Turning desperately to Margaret, 
who is sitting listlessly at the back of the room] 
Margaret, can't you help us.? Use your influence 
with Mr. Ramsey — talk to him. 

Margaret. It's no use. Ten Eyck. I have 
given Mr. Ramsey up. Nothing can change him, 
no possible argument — unless it were the argu- 
ment of poverty — always a telling argument 
even with the William Ramseys of the world 

Ramsey. Margaret! Allow my wife to sup- 
port me.'^ Don't be absurd. 

Margaret. [Calmly continuing as if he had not 
spoken] Or if he were a real democrat 

Ramsey. WTiat do you mean.? 

Margaret. [Contemplatively] Or perhaps a 
terrible shock of some kind — a life and death 
shock — that might do it. No. [Rising and 



no THE FLOWER SHOP act hi 

coming forward]! think it rests with Louise. It is 
for her to take her life in her own hands — if she 
can. 

Ramsey. [Aside to Margaret] Remember, I 
hold the same power over your happiness that 
you hold over mine. 

Margaret. [Turning to Louise] I have urged 
her to sing — I urge her again. [She is calm, im- 
personal] Do it, Louise — [turns away] I can say 
no more. 

Ramsey. [Grimly, following her with his eyes] 
Thank you. 

Ten Eyck. Won't you at least leave her free 
to choose, Mr. Ramsey .^^ 

Ramsey. (Pleasantly but coldly, simulating 
unconcern] She is at liberty always to do as she 
chooses — I, of course, will not stand in her way. 
Make your choice, Louise. Let it be final. Do 
not consider me in the least. Will you sing for this 
man.f^ 

Louise. [Helpless, desperate, glances at each 
one, coming back to Ramsey's face, whose expres- 
sion she knows so well. She reads it with a long, 
keen look and then wilts on his breast] I can't. Ten 
Eyck — I simply can't. 

Ramsey. That ends it, I think. [Takes the 
contract from Ten Eyck and tears it.] 

Ten Eyck starts to speak, and then with a 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 111 

gesture of disgust and helpless rage, goes 
from the room. 
Ramsey. We must go now, dear. 
Louise. [Embraces Margaret, tearfully] 

Good-bye, Margaret 

Ramsey. [Going to the door with Louise, his 
arm about her] There, sweetheart, it was a bit of 
folly, but I forgive you. I know it is hard, but 
you will be much happier this way. Trust me. 
I know best. You shall have love in full measure. 
[Pauses at the door and looks back at Margaret, 
who is gazing at him with steady, far-off eyes which 
seem to look through him and beyond him] Will you 
step into the carriage, Louise, and wait for me? I 
will join you in a moment. I must speak to 
Margaret. 

[Exit Louise.] 
Ramsey comes forward and looks at Mar- 
garet. She is very still, wrapped in 
statuesque, impenetrable calm. 
Ramsey. You think I am cruel. [Margaret 
is silent] She will be all right when I get her home — 
away from you and your flower shop ideas. They 
are very disturbing. Of course she's upset now, 
but she will be quite happy again. 
Margaret turns away. 
Ramsey. Margaret, I don't like to go away 
without knowing how you are coming out. 



112 THE FLOWER SHOP act iii 

Margaret. There is nothing — now. 

Ramsey. I will make my part of it square, 
now that Louise is settled. Honestly, I will see 
Hartwell. Take back everything. I promise 
you that — [Margaret glances up as if to say 
" That isn't all, " but she remains silent] Margaret, 
haven't you sent for him? 

Margaret. No. 

Ramsey. Aren't you going to? 

Margaret. [In a stifled voice] I can't now. 

Ramsey. [Looks at ivatch] Jove, nearly train 
time. Hartwell's train, too. [Margaret droops] 
He won't come if you don't send for him. 

Margaret. [Dreamily, steadily, wistfully, look- 
ing straight out] If he loves me — he will come 

Ramsey. You poor girl! You can't give in 
any more than I can. [Moves as if to go and then 
turns] I say, Margaret, it was a lucky thing you 
and I didn't marry, wasn't it, — although I must 
admit you hold me still, somehow. But you did 
make me everlastingly furious to-day ! 

Margaret. You have made me utterly miser- 
able — good night. 

[She vanishes through the conservatory door, 
which closes behind her.] 

Ramsey. Well! [Turns to go.] 

Enter Ste!phen Hartwell. He speaks in 

the same deep, cairns and measured tones. 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 113 

Hart WELL. Just a moment, Mr. Ramsey. I 
am here, you see, after all, although she did not 
send for me. I have made my decision — I shall 
marry her — in spite of everything. 

Ramsey. With the flower shop.? 

Hartwell. Yes. I have come to the con- 
clusion — (and I have done some thinking to-day, 
Ramsey — laid a lifetime of prejudices) — I have 
come to the conclusion that I have no right to 
take it away — it is her work — her life — it is 
vital to her happiness. 

Ramsey. Well, I am glad you came in before 
I left — I wanted to see you to-night. 

Hartwell. It is easy to be romantic, Ramsey 
— set a woman on a pedestal as a saint for devo- 
tion and all that, — it is harder to help her live 
her own life, but perhaps after all that is the more 
genuine devotion — real chivalry in the end. 
It is what Margaret Kendall asks — I am going 
to give it to her — if I can. 

Ramsey. Mr. Hartwell, I wish to explain 

Hartwell. [Continuing] So let your news- 
papers say what they like, your politicians do 
what they will, together Margaret and I can face 
whatever you care to do, whatever threats you 
may carry out — we shall have the real thing. 

Ramsey. I take them all back, Hartwell! — 
all the threats — everything — I will stand by you 



114 THE FLOWER SHOP act iii 

— things shall go on exactly as we have planned. 
I'll ignore the woman question, if it comes up, 
I'll manage somehow. I want to see you both 
happy — truly. I was angry this afternoon — 
I am all right now 

Hart WELL. [With a sharp look at him] Then 
your wife isn't going on the stage .^^ 

Ramsey. No. 

Hartwell. Ah, that accounts for it 

Ramsey. [With a confessing smile] Well, yes, — 
but you can afford to forgive me with so much 
happiness before you — I cared for her once 
myself, you know — she is 

Hartwell. I know — you needn't tell me — 
but why isn't she here.^^ 

Ramsey. [Going into the conservatory] Let 
me call her. 

Hartwell observes the flower shop with a 
new and admiring interest. He seems well 
content. Enter Louise. 

Louise. Where is my husband.'^ 

Hartwell. In there. 

Louise. Are you going on the same train 
with us.? 

Hartwell. [Smiling] No, I think not. 

Louise. [Rapidly whispering] Is it going to be 
all right? 

Hartwell. Yes — I hope so. 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 115 

Louise. [Same hurried tones] I am so glad. 
[seizes his hand] she is the loveHest, noblest, — 
They are coming — oh ! [Hastily gathers up 
pieces of Margaret's torn letter] She wrote it 
to you. 

Enter Ramsey and Margaret. 

Louise. [Proudly, airily] William, have you 
forgotten me? 

Ramsey. [Starting forward] Oh, my dear! I 
beg your pardon. I was just coming 

Louise. You stayed so long I thought per- 
haps you were being converted. 

Ramsey. Mercy no! 

Louise. [Lightly, pointedly] Well, you seem 
to find it very fascinating here, nevertheless! 
[Over her shoulder] Good night, Mr. Hartwell. 
Good night, Margaret. I shall not let him bother 
you again. [They go out.] 

Hartwell. [Who has been putting the pieces of 
Margaret's torn letter together, looks up, holds out 
his arms, into which Margaret swiftly glides] 
At last! 

Margaret. You have found a way.^^ 

Hartwell. Yes, love. It is you — you ! I 
was blind not to see it at once — to keep you 
waiting all this time — you poor darhng ! [Hold- 
ing forth the letter] If you only knew how happy 
that makes me! 



116 THE FLOWER SHOP act iii 

Margaret. Why? 

Hartwell. [Holding her close] It tells me you 
are human — a woman — mine. 

Margaret. [Happy mischief in her voice and 
eyes] But it is torn ! 

Hartwell. Yes. 

Margaret. [Softly, seriously] Do you know 
why.'^ 

Hartwell. [Holding her away from him and 
looking at her thoughtfully] I think it must be — 
those other women, about whom you care so much. 

Margaret. Yes. 

Hartwell. It is in your face — it is the secret 
of your beauty — I see it now, and I love you for 
it. [Lifting her hand to his lips.] 

Margaret. [Leading him to the stone bench] 
Stephen, I want to tell you something. It came 
to me only a moment ago. 

Hartwell. Yes, dear? 

Margaret. I can give this up [indicating 
the flower shop] and do a less public work — 
quieter, more obscure — a work not so osten- 
tatious 

Hartwell. Can you? 

Margaret. [Still anxiously] I would not 
embarrass you — jeopardize your career — not 
for anything in the world. 

Hartwell. You will not — don't let that 



ACT III THE FLOWER SHOP 117 

worry you. [Draws her to him and leans back 
contentedly] It is nice here, isn't it? The flowers 
belong to you, Margaret. You are one of them. 
[Tenderly, playfully] No, dear, no, I think we will 
keep the flower shop. 

Margaret. [Slips on her knees before him 
with a little cry] Oh, Stephen! 

Hartwell encircling her with his arm, 
lifts her face to his and gazes long into it, 
then bows his head upon hers. 

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